


The Champion of Misfortune

by G E Monica (J1NXY0)



Series: Dragon and Phoenix Chronicles [1]
Category: Berserk (Anime & Manga), Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Original Work
Genre: Debauchery, F/F, F/M, Family, Gardozian Knight, God of War - Freeform, Multi, Romance, Swordfighting, Vampires, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:00:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 31,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22655128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/J1NXY0/pseuds/G%20E%20Monica
Summary: Born and bred for war, Gardozian Knights are deadly and precise zealot-warriors that have been protecting their empire from threats since the first era. They do not fear death – they worship war.Rozaline Kiezar descends from a long line of such master swordfighters and is expected to one day wield her father’s legendary galdarkas. Her training brutal, her body and soul devoted to Gardoz and the Equilibrium Empire, Roza’s life is full of toil and self-sacrifice.Times are swiftly changing, since the defeat of Ananette the dark goddess of power, almost two decades ago. Political and social views are advancing, not to mention technology and warfare.Roza must find a way to adapt to a world-wide industrial revolution, else perish and have the old ways of her ancestors die with her. She will discover that not all battles can be won with steel, and even Gardozian Knights have a breaking point.
Series: Dragon and Phoenix Chronicles [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1629754
Kudos: 1





	The Champion of Misfortune

**Author's Note:**

> The Old Gods:  
> Viscar – Maker of Yaima and Father of Men  
> Lenos – Mother of Plants and Animals  
> Mear – Goddess of Beauty, Art and Love  
> Alois – God of Knowledge and Cunning  
> Gardoz – God of War and Death
> 
> The Elven Gods:  
> Daeron Fy’reon – Creator and Preserver of Elves  
> Aithera Viona – Mother of Elves and Nature
> 
> The Llichivar Goddesses:  
> Maiya – Mother White Dragon, Power Absolute, Water and Wind.  
> Muraz – Mother Iridescent Phoenix, Balance Ever-last, Fire and Earth.

PART ONE

The Knight of Debauchery 

Chapter One  
Welcome Wagon

Rozaline was dragged outside Raydon cities’ walls with the rest of the immigrant crew of The Potter’s Dawn. From the start, she had loathed the name of the transport ship that she had stowed away on for months, sailing from her sandy home of Barass to Ayrev, a green luscious place, which was well known for its ceaseless rain.  
It was dry today however, and muggy, even in the open field where the city guards decided to stop marching the crew in front of a wall of sandbags, holding them all at rifle point.  
“Which one of you is Captain Don Shivar?” asked the ring-leader of the guards. Roza guessed that he was the ring-leader anyway, as he was holding a clip board instead of a rifle, wearing a fancy hawk feather plumed helmet and a shiny golden sash.  
A sharp featured, average sized man stepped forwards, the captain of The Potter’s Dawn. Roza had been wondering what he looked like for months, whilst she had hid away in the cargo hold, helping herself to free ale, lemons and stale bread.  
“Your travel papers expired a year ago, so why is your ship ported in Ayrev, Captain Shivar?” the guard leader demanded, the feather in his helmet bouncing in the breeze.  
“Couldn’t afford to renew it. Can’t even afford the prices in the Kingdom or the Empire, can’t get licensed there either. Look, we’re just honest men looking for work,” Don said, wringing his hands together.  
“Is that why you sunk an Imperial cruiser on your way here?” he accused.  
“That wasn’t us, you can’t prove it,” Don argued.  
The ring-leader flipped a page on his clip board and read aloud, “A small frigate with purple and blue striped sails, believed to be called The Potters Dawn, caught pillaging a damaged Imperial cruiser.”  
Rozaline rolled her eyes, sighing deeply. She stepped out of the line and opened her wry mouth, “I’m not a member of this crew, so could we just cut all the accusations and get to the point?”  
One of the Ayrevian guards bashed her with the stock of his rifle to push her back into the line. She was more startled than hurt as the piece of wood crashed into her collarbone. Roza instinctively reached across her hip and prepared to draw the long sword on her side. She was met with the barrels of three separate flintlock rifles, the trio of guards wary to pull the trigger, but also baffled by the heavily armed woman. She grinned wickedly at all three of them, “That escalated quickly.”  
“She’s right, I didn’t have any women in my crew when I set sail,” the captain of The Potters Dawn pointed out, a little bit dumbfounded.  
“You look Menosian,” drawled the ring-leader guard, he sounded bored but his eyes looked alive and ready to feast on the feisty immigrant. “Lock them all away. We can let the jury decide if Don Shivar is guilty.”  
The posse of guards began to cuff the crew, but none of them seemed brave enough to approach the woman carrying two swords, poised and ready to strike.  
“You’re well dressed, for a thief. Lay down your weapons, little girl, and come quietly,” ordered the guard leader.  
“Can’t do that. And I wouldn’t call your new guard captain a thief. It’s rude,” she said whimsically, slowly relaxing her battle stance.  
“Right,” the leader nodded, appearing just as amused as she was. He pulled out a well shined pistol from the holster under his arm. “Lay down your swords, or I will put a bullet hole in your knee.”  
“We were expecting the new guard captain a week ago,” pointed out one of the guards. “An Imperial, R. Kiezar?”  
“I am Rozaline Kiezar,” she bowed theatrically, “The Imperial that you speak of.”  
“No, you don’t even look remotely Imperial,” the leader said sternly.  
“Well, that’s just racist,” Roza frowned.  
“It might just check out, sir,” said the inquisitive guard.  
“Why wouldn’t you just open with that? Do you have your letter, sealed by our King?” the leader demanded grumpily.  
“Here’s the thing…” Roza cringed slightly. “I lost it. And then I couldn’t board the actual ship that was meant to bring me here, so I had to sneak onto The Potters Dawn, ugh, such a ridiculous name for a ship, aye? So that’s why I’m a week late.”  
The guard leader blinked slowly and disdainfully, “Empress Alania sent you to protect our city?”  
“Yes, that’s what I’ve been tryin’ to tell you.”  
The leader slowly raised his pistol. “You’re a lying little thief,” he marched towards her, sticking the tip of his gun against Roza’s forehead.  
“Well,” she sighed again and coolly said, “I’m not one hundred percent sure that your gun is even loaded. As exciting as taking that risk with death is, I think I’ll let the jury decide my fate.”  
“Clever girl,” he said with satisfaction, as one of his guards rushed over to roughly cuff Roza’s hands behind her back. 

***

“…And that’s how I ended up here,” Rozaline finished retelling her welcome and capture story to the narrow faced, slender eared elf sitting on the other, freer side of her iron prison bars.  
“Jukette nin,” he muttered with exasperation.  
“Look, my Papa taught me a lot of important lessons, but he did glaze over elvish, so if you don’t mind speaking Stintish at all times?” she complained, sitting on a mouldy wooden stool, her feet resting on an upside down toilet bucket. Her arms were tightly folded and she made a point to glare at the spider webs in the top corner of her cell.  
“I don’t know why I expected you to arrive on time, or the right date, even the right location,” the elf was frustrated, but he was hiding it well.  
“But you found me in the end,” she shrugged, grinning gleefully, “Vayren, aye?”  
“Vay’len Nailir,” he corrected impatiently. Compared to the mission report Roza had read, his name sounded beautiful from his lips, light and flowing, the final r an elegant trill.  
“Will you be able to get my swords back?” she asked, kicking off from her bucket and stool. She moved towards the bars, desperate to have her weapons back at her sides.  
“You’ll be lucky if you get your position as Guard Captain, now.”  
“Aw c’mon, don’t be like that,” she grinned wryly.  
“I don’t make the rules,” Vay’len said passively.  
“Clearly. What is a High-elf doing so far away from his forest, anyway?”  
“Researching, would you believe it?”  
“I thought you were a forensics analyst?” Roza played coy, whilst waiting for the duty guard to bring the keys to her cell.  
He leant a bit closer, as if he was letting her in on a big secret, and dryly said, “Yes, there is this concept in Raydon, where you pay bills, rent and taxes, and even put food on the table.”  
“Never heard of it,” she quickly quipped back, lowering her voice into an excited whisper, “Anyway, aren’t you supposed to be a wizard? Isn’t that like, a full time job in itself?”  
“Alas, If only… if only.”  
“The sooner I can get out of here, the sooner I can go cut the ears off the guard that put a gun against my head,” Roza grumbled.  
“That sort of thinking is why you’re in this predicament in the first place,” Vay’len lectured.  
“It’s a joke, Vay,” she grinned wildly, “It’s a joke.” 

Chapter Two  
Lost and Found

Freed from custody, Rozaline Kiezar stepped out into the fresh, drizzly air of the foreign city. Vay’len had arranged for a horse-drawn carriage to pick them up, so that they would both be saved from having their clothes soaked through on their journey across Raydon.  
Roza slumped into the leather bench, exhausted from the long travel, but she would never admit it. She rested her recovered swords on her lap, one was longer than the other and both were encased in a glossy, dark-wood scabbard, the delicately engraved patterns a work of art within itself. The curved blades inside were expertly made, folded steel, each were single, razor sharp edged, the tips tapered, precise and deadly. Sword making was a dying craft, but luckily Roza’s uncle was a master-smith.  
Vay’len sat across from her, folding his hands on his narrow lap. “You look peaky,” he said.  
Roza took instant offence, “Excuse me?”  
The elf sat tall and proud, even as the carriage rumbled into motion. “You look unwell,” he clarified.  
“I know what peaky means.”  
Vay’len blanched slightly, “I’m not calling you unattractive. I’m just merely suggesting that you need rest and a proper meal.”  
Roza slumped further down into her seat. “You don’t socialise much, do you?”  
A flush of colour spread across his high cheekbones and he turned his head to watch the droplets of water dance across the outside of the window. The rest of the journey remained an awkward silence between them.  
Roza was excited to see the barracks of a foreign country, but the terrible turn of the weather made it almost impossible to sight-see any of Raydon. The clouds were dark and thick, rain hammering down in sheets.  
Vay’len raised the hood of his thick, pale blue cloak over his head as he left the carriage and rushed inside the guard tower. A huge attachment to the barracks, both were fairly newly constructed, the massive slabs of granite barely showing any signs of weathering.  
Nonchalantly, Roza stepped out of the carriage, stomped through the puddles and rain and followed the high elf towards her new office. She expected grandeur, an arsenal of weapons and armour. What she got was an old desk, over flowing with paperwork.  
“Holy hell,” she barked.  
“This wouldn’t have piled up if you hadn’t been a week late,” Vay’len lectured, holding the door open for her.  
“On second thoughts, I don’t think I’m the right candidate for this position,” Roza grimaced.  
He pushed her gently into the chaos of her Captain’s office.  
“Hi,” a man squeaked, buried in the mess of papers and reports. “You must be Ms Kiezar?”  
“Hello,” she said, quite relieved that she wasn’t alone to suffer with the deskwork. She offered her golden tanned hand to the stranger, to help him out of the mess of paper.  
“I hired you an assistant,” Vay’len informed, “His name is Michael Zainadir.”  
“Everyone calls me Red, though,” he said nervously, shaking the hand of his new boss.  
“You can call me Roza,” she offered, noticing that the young man had green eyes similar to her own. “I can see why the last captain quit.”  
“Oh, he didn’t quit Ms Roza. He was brutally murdered,” Red said apprehensively.  
“Aye, I forgot,” she said plainly.  
Vay’len shook his head and muttered something unintelligible under his breath before ducking out of the office.  
Red cleared his throat, “I think the King made the right choice, hiring someone outside of Ayrev. You’ll have an unbiased eye and the criminals won’t be able to blackmail you or threaten your family.”  
“I understood about half of what you just said, friend,” Roza said, putting her hands on her hips. “How about we put this to one side for today and go grab a drink?”

***

Michael had never met anyone quite like Roza.  
He had heard of the family name Kiezar, everyone had. It was one of the few remaining pure Imperial noble families. He hadn’t expected her to be a her though, Vay’len hadn’t thought to mention it anyway. Maybe the elf was just as surprised?  
“Why the nickname ‘Red’, then?” his new boss asked.  
He’d taken her to his local tavern, The Swordfish, and he had already finished his first pint. His nerves were replaced with heady intoxication, and he barely blushed as he replied, “I got nosebleeds a lot as a kid.”  
Roza was already downing her second pint of dark ale. “Aye, you should probably make something up, something more interesting than the truth.”  
“Why would I do that?” he asked curiously.  
She slammed her empty tankard down on their round table, and put her soggy boots up on the vacant chair beside her. “Because life is too short to be uninteresting,” she divulged.  
“Is that a piece of Kiezar wisdom I was promised?” Red chuckled.  
“Just a small taster.”  
He pushed his chair out, the room span and he almost tripped up. “I’ll get us more drinks?” he offered.  
Roza grinned broadly with approval.  
Red wiped sweat from his forehead as he crashed into the bar, squeezing his narrow shoulders in between rowdy patrons to order another round of drinks. What am I doing? I never drink alcohol.  
He could do without the wide, open fireplace filling the tavern with heat on an already muggy day. In the small farming village he had grown up in – the one that had affectionately nicknamed him Red because of his nosebleeds – he’d once had a crush on a girl called Tallulah for as long as he could remember. She was the daughter of a Mear priestess, the scent of rose petals always trailed behind her and she had the same cool toned platinum blond hair as Rozaline. His stomach churned with excitement, as he replaced the infatuation he had for Tallulah onto Roza instead.  
He unbuttoned the collar of his emerald shirt and made it back to their table without spilling too much ale. “Can I ask you something, Ms Roza?” he said, once he’d sat down across from her.  
“Mmm?”  
“I heard that your family are the few to still worship Gardoz?” Red continued.  
“The Empire pays respects to all the deities, not just Viscar.”  
“What I really mean is that your family fully associates itself with Gardoz, bordering on an obsession with the god of death and war,” he expanded. He watched Roza drink, whilst he debated on taking another sip of his own ale.  
“Aye, what’s your point?”  
“Are you a Gardozian knight?” he asked enthusiastically, “Is that why our King sent for you? Ayrev has to be in a really bad way; well I know it is, with the murders and the crime rate climbing. Why wouldn’t the King send for more muscle?”  
“You’re rambling again, darlin’,” Roza said sweetly. “I haven’t been knighted yet, but I am Gardozian trained. Otherwise I’d be carrying galdarkas, wouldn’t I?”  
“You’re right,” Red said with awe, his eyes wide. “Is it true, galdarkas can cut through anything? Even granite?”  
Roza snorted with amusement, “Where did Vay’len find you?”  
“At the guard house… why?”  
“You’re one of those book smart types, ain’t ya?”  
“I have other skills too,” Red murmured.  
She waited for him to add more.  
“Like cooking, and rearing horses, ploughing – ”  
“What do you plough, Red?” she smirked mischievously.  
“F-fields? I had better prospects becoming a guard though, but I’m just no good with a sword or a rifle. I’m grateful that Mr Nailir found me a job I’m good at. Well, I hope I’ll be good at,” he rambled awkwardly.  
“I can teach you how to wield a sword,” she muttered, lowering her legs from the chair next to her, leaning forwards into the table to watch Red squirm.  
A robust man with dark, messy hair drew up the chair she had just made vacant and sat at their table. “I just like to make you aware of the rabble of lowlifes in the corner behind me,” he said in a low, ragged voice, “I overheard them planning to put something in your next drink.”  
“Hope it’s something fun, and not a wasp in my drink,” she said playfully. “And who might you be?”  
“Seth Rannen, at your service,” he introduced, folding his leather gloved hands on top of the wooden table.  
“And what do you do, Rannen? Besides saving foreigners from unwanted attention,” Roza drawled.  
“I hunt monsters,” he said dryly, without the hint of a welcoming smile.  
“You’re a mercenary?”  
“I’m anything, for a good price,” he said, talking business as he clenched his fingers into fists, the leather of his gloves squeaking. “I’ll start a distraction so you and your friend can leave, without these bastards following you home. That’s if you have the coin, of course.”  
Roza threw back her head and laughed wildly, her long blond hair cascading down the back of her wooden chair. “What a brilliant con-artist you are, Seth.”  
“I’m serious,” he said stoically.  
“I think I’ll take my chances with the bastards,” she grinned, finishing off the rest of her ale. “I’ll come find you when I really, really need a distraction.”  
Seth remained seated as she left the table, carrying a total of thirty inches of steel on her waist. She preferred the old ways, just as he favoured a reliable crossbow over an unpredictable pistol any day.  
Red quickly followed her, out of The Swordfish and onto the slippery streets of the city. She picked a random direction and began to confidently stroll forwards.  
“Where are we going?” Red asked after a few minutes of following her like a loyal puppy.  
“Back to the guard tower.”  
“It’s in the other direction,” he pointed out.  
“I knew that,” Roza sniggered, quickly spinning around on the spot.  
Red had little to no reaction time and walked straight into her. He bounced off her muscular frame, but Roza extended her arm to grab a fistful of his shirt, holding him upright.  
He wasn’t sure what came over him in that moment. Perhaps it was the peaceful isolation of the trade district late at night, the large water fountain in the centre of it trickling a soothing pattern of sound, or the way that the thick clouds above parted ever so slightly to reveal a bright crescent moon, which only illuminated Roza’s beauty more. Perhaps it was the alcohol in his body, the rush of adrenaline, his heart pounding fast as he breathed in the sea salt, liquor and citrus scent of her.  
Red put his hand around her fist that was balancing him, and pressed his lips onto hers.  
“I’m sorry,” he uttered with horror, stepping back from her. “I don’t know why I did that.” But he knew exactly why he had kissed her. He’d drunk too much, Roza was funny and gorgeous, and she had been unabashedly flirting with him all night. Unless I read the signs wrong?  
Roza grinned wickedly and crashed into him, kissing him passionately. She forced Red backwards, firmly pressing her lips against his, until his back was pressed up against the redbrick wall of a well respected tailor shop. She rubbed herself against him, Red’s body responded with excitement and nerves. How do I tell her I’ve never lain with a woman before?  
Roza’s lips travelled across his jaw and down to his neck, her fingers deep in his thick hair, clutching tight, possessing him with every kiss and flick of her tongue.  
His eyelids flickered, and so did a bright light behind her. “There’s a fire,” he managed to pant through his pleasure.  
“Mm, I know. Let me find it,” she murmured seductively onto his neck, her other hand roaming towards his hips.  
“No,” Red said with disbelief, “No, I mean really, that building is on fire.”  
Roza pulled away from his warm skin and glanced over her shoulder, “Suppose we should do something about that.”  
She unpinned Red from the wall and turned towards the smoking shop building. “We’ll have to finish this later,” she promised, patting his stubbly cheek.  
“Isn’t anyone going to do anything?” a woman cried with anger, rushing down the dark street, wrapped in a silky dressing-gown. She passed the burning building, hurrying towards a fire hydrant, attacking it with a long kitchen knife.  
A well toned, shirtless man rushed behind her. “It needs a hose pipe,” he pointed out.  
“I can see that,” the woman snapped, “One of these shops will have a hose.”  
“I’ll go get help,” Red said hastily, and began to run down the main road of the trade district.  
Roza was fairly impressed by how fast he could move, as she hurried towards the blazing building. It was devastating up close. The ground floor had exploded from the inside and the glass front of the shop was completely smashed.  
“Is there people inside there?” she called over her shoulder, towards the shirtless man and the woman still attacking the hydrant.  
“Yes, but they’re trapped on the second floor,” the woman replied coldly, “It’s going to spread to my shop.”  
Without hesitation, Roza took a running leap towards the adjacent shop that had not yet caught fire. She held onto the top of the large window frame and began to climb up to the elegantly painted sign of the shop. Even in her lighter travelling-leather armour Roza was still heavy, she was bulkier than most women, pure muscle and hefty steel swords. The sign split and began to crack in half, she quickly climbed to the upper level windowsill, leaving the broken sign to crumble and fall at least thirty feet below her. Thick, dark smoke billowed into her face and she could feel the heat of the fire now.  
Roza lifted her athletic body up into a flowerbox, crushing the colourful Spring flowers, balancing, ready to make the jump, aiming for the window-ledge of the burning shop.  
In the distance, a deep, frantic bell rang, again and again. Roza blocked all thoughts of missing the ledge and hitting the damp, cobbled street, breaking both her ankles. She jumped.  
She hit the ledge hard, feeling the full intensity of the fire now, coughing as the smoke spiralled around her. Roza nearly lost her grip, but she pulled herself up and smashed her fist through the lattice window. She shot inside, ignoring the pain and the blood that leaked from her cut up fist.  
“Hello?” she called, coughing again, covering her mouth and nose with the crook of her elbow. The smoke burned her eyes.  
“Help! We’re trapped,” a woman cried from another room.  
Roza swore internally and travelled through what appeared to be a stock room, full of wooden crates, lockers and iron safes. She hurtled through the door and was met with an updraft of orange flames, climbing up the stairs and devouring the wooden framework of the shop. The floorboards between the rooms had completely been burned away.  
“Where are you?” she called again into the smoke and lethal heat.  
A door banged repeatedly on the other side of the engulfed staircase. “The door won’t open,” the woman screamed, still hammering against it, trapped inside.  
Roza could see why. A beam had fallen from the ceiling, blocking the door shut. The floor creaked and cooked beneath her feet, but she still made the leap across the fire, steadying herself on the large fallen beam.  
“Move back from the door,” she ordered, drawing her long blade. Roza ducked beneath the beam and began to hack at the lower part of the wooden door.  
Flames grew behind her, smoke plumed upwards, her back grew hotter and hotter. She kicked the bottom part of the door through.  
“Can you climb out?” Roza shouted, putting her sword away.  
A girl crawled through and Roza lifted her up. The girl coughed and spluttered and began to wail, “Zarah!”  
“I’m coming,” the woman cried, squeezing through the hole.  
Fire licked up Roza’s back, searing her flesh and she growled with pain, her eyes streaming from the smoke, she held the girl in her arms tightly, shielding her from the heat.  
The main structure of the shop gave way, creaking one last time, before the whole ceiling collapsed on top of them. 

Chapter Three  
Ashes to Ashes 

Red made it back to the fire, just as the roof of the shop caved in. A team of volunteers ran behind him, bringing a hose pipe for the hydrant.  
The woman in her silky dressing-gown took a step back, still holding the kitchen knife at her side. Her ice-blue eyes glared murderously at the fire and the now broken sign of her shop. With one look alone, Red thought that she would freeze the fire over.  
“Where’s the Captain?” he asked her frantically.  
“That was the Captain?” she turned to him, folding her arms, concealing her knife slightly. She pierced Red with the same cold stare. “I thought she was just a mercenary. She destroyed the front of my shop and climbed inside the jewellers.”  
Red turned back to the wrecked building, now that water was being sprayed over it. It was all too late.  
“Lost another one, didn’t even last a day,” he murmured. His eyes began to itch, his throat went dry, but it had nothing to do with the smoke. He turned away, not quite sure what to do next, or where to go.  
“There’s someone up there!” called one of the fire fighters.  
“Is that your Captain?” the shop owner pointed elegantly with her kitchen knife.  
Red turned back, spotting a charred and soot covered woman dangling from the upper window with one hand. The other was wrapped tightly around a girl. They were both dripping wet from the hose.  
“Roza,” he said, gaping with awe and horror.  
The fire fighters ran forwards, holding out a thick sheet of linen. “Let go, we will catch you,” one of them instructed.  
Good, Roza thought as she realised she couldn’t hold onto the ledge for a second longer. She dropped, still holding the girl tight to her chest. She bounced onto the linen sheet, staining it with soot and blood from her burned and melted back.  
Roza climbed off the sheet and fell to her knees, coughing the smoke from her lungs. She let go of the girl she had saved, and she screaming with agony. Yet there were no wounds on the child, nothing that could be physically healed anyway.  
“Roza,” Red cried, rushing over to help her. Her hair was charred black and singed at the ends and fire had destroyed a lot of her leather armour.  
The burnt Captain double checked that she still had both her swords before wheezing a plea, “There’s still someone inside.”  
“Naomi,” the woman in her silky nightwear stepped forwards, discarding her knife to the ground. She stooped to hug the child.  
“My – my s-sister,” the girl snivelled.  
Roza tried to get back up, her vision blurred, she reached out to the girl. “I have to go back,” she croaked.  
“The building is gone, Roza,” Red uttered, his eyes filling with tears. 

***

Roza awoke in an unfamiliar bed. It wouldn’t be the first time – or the last. She was aware of someone sitting beside her bed murmuring a chant under his breath, but the words made no sense. “A hauta sinomë ,” the elf said gently.  
Roza opened her eyes a fraction, correctly guessing that Vay’len was the one fussing over her. Although she hadn’t earlier noticed how perfect his skin was, or how when the sunlight caught his long black hair, it shone silver and covered his tapered ears completely. But more interesting than all of his sleek elven features were his eyes. Impossibly blue eyes, beautifully upturned and sharp, wise, the only gateway to his long life and many years, encased in a youthful body.  
Roza stared up at him for a few minutes as he continued to chant. She hadn’t seen much beauty in her nineteen years walking Yaima. She’d grown up learning that the world was a cruel and bleak place full of selfish people, all fighting to make their own lives less miserable.  
Sapphires. Sapphires were the only things that she could recall, that could compare to Vay’len’s brilliant eyes. She had seen many of them, plastered to the walls of the Barassian Queen’s palace, but even then, Roza knew that they were blood jewels, dug by generations of Llichivar slaves. No, Vay’len is purer than sapphires.  
“Good morning,” he said cordially, dipping his elegant head. He was aware of the captain staring deeply into him, with her battle-born green eyes. The wizard didn’t need her to tell him tales of her past, because it was all written on her face. The self-entitlement, the violence and brutality, the dogma of a devoted acolyte, the brash attitude and self-destructive tendencies of a cold-hearted killer, yet… Vay’len was surprised when he had heard that she had climbed into a burning building to save a complete stranger. He couldn’t say if he would have had the same courage.  
“How are you feeling?” he asked.  
“I – I – everything has gone dark! I can’t see!” Roza replied with horror, reaching out blindly towards his voice.  
Vay’len almost fell off his chair, “I washed the smoke from your eyes,” he worried.  
Roza began to grin wickedly, “I’m only pulling your leg,” she cackled and sat up, her body felt taut, the bandages around her were restricting.  
“No – no, don’t move. You must rest,” the wizard fussed. “I did what I could, but I am no healer. That is my mother’s expertise. You might have the scars forever, I’m afraid.”  
“What’s one more scar?” she said nonchalantly. Her grin turned to a smirk, “Or has my face been completely burnt off?”  
“No, just your back. And your hair might be a bit shorter.”  
Roza felt for her bright blond locks, the length was noticeably jagged and shorter. She had tried a shorter style years ago and hadn’t been keen, it will grow back at least. She went quickly solemn. “Did anyone get the girls’ sister out?”  
Vay’len shook his head, his chest went tight. He wasn’t sure if he would ever get used to deaths, he had never known any within his own home city. Yet the woman in front of him danced with death almost everyday and she was even mad enough to worship Gardoz.  
Roza flopped back down and chewed on her lip, “Have you investigated it yet?”  
“Not yet. I wanted to make sure that you did not succumb to your wounds,” he replied breathlessly.  
“Thanks, but I’ve done a lot worse than setting myself on fire,” she murmured darkly, staring towards her partially opened window. She presumed that this was her new quarters, and her office was on the lower level beneath them. Roza sighed, “Fire’s don’t just happen though.”  
“I agree,” Vay’len nodded. “There was a fire at the beginning of the year, but I hadn’t been stationed in Raydon yet and I had no chance to investigate. All I know was that it happened suddenly, without warning and it was quickly covered up.”  
“Was it in the same area? The trade district?”  
“Yes, near enough so, according to the records anyway. Speaking of records, you should rest some more before heading to your office,” he advised.  
Roza dragged her bandaged hand down her face, gritting her teeth, “Oh no, I forgot about all that paperwork.”  
“You need to make a rota for your guards this week as well,” Vay’len mentioned, rising gracefully and crossing the room lightly, “Rest now. I’ll have Mr Zainadir bring you some food soon.

Chapter Four  
Collaborators

Roza took a day of bed rest to heal her burns. It had been an uncharacteristically dry day, sunny and hot despite it only being the beginning of Spring. Birds sang outside her window whilst she lay on her belly, trying to block out the searing pain across her back. Vay’len returned only once to apply a healing salve and change her bandages. Red checked on her almost every hour.  
On the second day, Roza became restless. She gathered her strength and gingerly left the confinement of her large bed, rinsing her face at the corner water basin and turning to look out her wide window. Clouded skies and rain, plastered across an already grey city.  
“Typical,” Roza muttered under her breath.  
Red had already lain out a captain uniform for her, after spending the previous morning nervously measuring her up, being very gentle not to put pressure on her wounds. It was smart and formal, Roza hadn’t had much say in the style or the colour scheme of it. Thankfully, her boots and leggings were black and so was the interior of the long coat that flowed even longer at the back. The outside of the coat was pure white however and so was her matching hooded cloak, accented with green embroidery. She had a grass green sash to wear as well, the representing colour of Raydon and the Hollington royal family. Roza pinned the silver badge of her station and rank onto the sash, the weight of her uniform pressing against her bandages. She clipped her blades to her belt and wondered how long it would take for her to stain and ruin her impractically white uniform.  
She left her cosy room and entered a stone corridor, descending the spiral staircase, it occurred to her that someone had carried her up to her room whilst she had blacked out. It had probably been Red. She brushed her undamaged fingers across her curved lips as she pondered, how chivalrous of him.  
Roza found her office relatively quickly, and braced for the mounds of paperwork lurking within. She pushed open the thick door and was pleasantly surprised to find it tidier and not in total disarray.  
Red leant both his palms against her chunky desk, pouring over a stack of papers. He did a double take when he looked up at the guard captain. “You’re up?” he tried not to gape at how majestic Roza looked, how imposing and well-suited she was in her captain’s garb.  
Roza grinned brightly, “You’ve been busy,” she countered.  
He’d clearly been at it for hours, had maybe only slept a few hours to sort through all the files, cases, reports and registers. It showed on the young man’s face, he looked paler, emphasising the stark dark circles beneath his bloodshot eyes.  
“You look impressive,” he complimented shyly.  
“Thanks, but they might as well have painted a bull’s-eye on my back, the way this uniform stands out. No wonder my predecessor was murdered,” Roza complained, fanning out her long white cloak.  
“The green matches your eyes,” Red pointed out, his cheeks flushing with colour.  
She decided not to argue any further. “You are impressive, you’ve fixed this place up,” she said, crossing the boxy room.  
“Mostly,” he muttered modestly. “You made the front page of the paper,” he added, sliding a newspaper across the oak desk.  
Roza scanned the lettering of The Raydon Press newspaper, no pictures but a headline printed: New Captain Rescues Diamond Shop Owner.  
“Interesting,” she murmured, mirroring Red’s modesty. “News reporters have been doing a bit of research of their own then? Has Vay’len had a chance to investigate the scene?”  
“Ah, yes,” Red turned to a nearby filing cabinet and pulled out a long essay, written in the High-elves’ twirly script.  
Roza expelled a long sigh and gingerly sat down at her desk, briefly scanning the report. “He suspects the fire came from magical origin,” she said.  
“Someone from the Silverstone University, perhaps?”  
“Got a few pyromaniacs there?” she wondered.  
Red shrugged, “I didn’t think so. Or an elf?”  
“I thought your city tagged them,” Roza pointed out, “That’s why Vay’len is so… clean.”  
“Your Empress can summon fire, can she not?”  
Roza thinned her eyes and glanced up at him, “What’s your point?”  
“Maybe someone is trying to frame the Empire?” Red speculated.  
“They would set fire to the palace, not a shop, surely?”  
He leant his side up against her desk, stroking his stubbled chin as he thought, “The Quarette Diamond shop was famous for making royal jewellery pieces.”  
Roza glanced back down at the report, “Says the jewels were all removed from the shop before the fire even started.”  
“They’d had a threat and moved the stock to a safer location?” he grimaced. “Or a thief took them and the fire was the distraction?”  
She set the paper down. “I’d like to see what Vay’len thinks, and the other shop owners in the district,” she decided, getting back up from her desk.  
“You’re going now?” Red fretted slightly, “Mr Nailir suggested that you rest for at least a week.”  
“Mr Nailir? Oh, you mean the elf,” Roza puzzled for a moment, readjusting her cloak against her sore back. “Get busy living…” she trailed off, striding out of her office and leaving Red behind to blink with bemusement. 

***

Approaching the scene of the fire made the all of the brash and insane thoughts that had gone through Roza’s mind feel like a distant, hazy memory and not a life changing decision that she had made only a few days ago.  
Vay’len was still there, interviewing the witnesses of the event, including the neighbouring shop owner, who appeared much more dignified now that she was covered up by more than just a dressing-gown. Both took cover from the rain under the overhang of her shop.  
The elf sensed the captain’s approach, took one wild-eyed look at her and rocked back gently on his heels, almost hitting his head against a low hanging beam. “If there’s anything at all, anything you need,” he said vitally, smothering his shock and continuing his conversation with the regal looking shop owner.  
The woman noticed the captain too, how could she not? Roza laughed inwardly. She gave Roza an icy stare, “I have everything in order, but the captain here does owe me a new sign,” she took a step back and gestured up to her shop front, where the golden lettering read: HEAVEN’S TRE-  
The other half of the sign that finished the word Treat had snapped off during Roza’s frantic climb.  
She grinned mischievously, “I might know someone who could improve the whole sign.”  
“I doubt that,” the owner argued, putting a hand on her emerald velvet coated hip. “I had the whitewood shipped from Menos and the metalwork Denvingian crafted.”  
“Hunter Denvinge is my uncle,” Roza said bluntly, offering her hand in greeting.  
The shop owner frowned slightly, cordially shaking the captain’s hand. “Now you mention it, I see the likeness. Celeste Alberona, I thank you for saving Naomi’s life.”  
“I only wish that I had saved her sister as well,” Roza said grimly, no longer grinning so freely.  
Celeste’s ice-blue eyes fluttered for a moment. “Just promise me you will find the arsonist, Captain,” she said with cold brutality.  
“Any clues, Vay’len?” Roza asked over her shoulder.  
He wore an almost withering expression, “Only a few speculations.” The elf folded his arms and gave her a sidelong glance. “Did someone change your bandages today?”  
“Maybe,” Roza replied with a twisted smile.  
“Your wounds will get infected,” Vay’len said crucially.  
She winced as the elf whipped away her pride and charm with his words, that only painted a picture of her putrid, festering burns.  
“You may use my washroom, if you wish?” Celeste offered, holding her head high.  
“Are you sure?” Vay’len checked, speaking ever so softly.  
The fine business woman nodded and guided them inside her shop.  
Roza pursed her lips, highly humiliated, her cheeks burning with heat. Luckily the foundations of Celeste’s shop had been undamaged by the fire, and the multiple displays of chocolate had remained un-melted.  
Roza hadn’t expected confectionaries. In all honesty she had assumed that Celeste was the madam of a high-end brothel. The sweet, rich, decadent aroma of chocolate invaded her nostrils and made her mouth water.  
The shop was huge and extravagantly decorated, full of patrons, trying free samples, purchasing gifts and treating themselves to all sorts of indulgent nibbles.  
Roza wanted to stay and taste them all, but Vay’len half dragged her to the washroom at the back of the shop. Once inside the pristine white and pink tiled room, she near exploded.  
“Why are you so awful to me?” she snapped, shrugging off her brilliant cloak.  
“I don’t see how me tending your wounds is an act so awful,” he said logically.  
“You don’t get it, do you,” Roza growled, frantically removing her sash and unbuttoning her coat, “I had a chance to get close to Celeste, and you ruined it with your imagery of infections.”  
“Close to her? Why? For the investigation? You don’t really think her a suspect?” Vay’len rapidly fired all his questions.  
“Of course not. It doesn’t matter,” she grumbled, hanging her coat and cloak up on a hook on the back of the door.  
“You humans are odd,” he uttered, shaking his head.  
“Aye, well…” she leant over one of the ceramic sinks, bracing her weight against it. The oval mirror in front of her reflected only truth and reality; a broken and scarred young woman. “Let’s get it over and done with, then.”  
After washing his hands at the sink next to her, Vay’len carefully and steadily began to unbind her bandages. In the open, damp air, Roza’s back really hurt. She gritted her teeth, still staring at her reflection as silent tears escaped from her hollow eyes.  
Vay’len remained behind her for her own modesty, digging deep into his satchel bag for his healing salve and bandages. His fingers were warm and soft as he lightly wiped the salve over the worst of her burnt flesh.  
“What am I doing here?” she said, her voice ragged.  
Vay’len didn’t say anything, as he began to wrap the linen bandages around her shoulders and worked his way down. “Better late than never, you still got here,” he replied at last.  
“But here. I expected more. I trained my whole life, I was brought up believing that I could and I would protect innocence and good people. That’s a Gardozian’s burden, you know? We kill, so others don’t have to. It’s what we’re best at. It was what I was born into. But what is the point in all that if someone can just pull the trigger of a gun? Or set fire to a building? And I can’t save them both… I couldn’t save him…” Roza ranted, curling her chin into her collar, her knuckles turning white as she clutched the edge of the sink with pure despair.  
Vay’len cut the bandage from the roll with an ornate, elvish dagger and tucked in the loose end. He hadn’t expected to find a vulnerable side in the guard captain and he decided to choose his words carefully.  
“That little girl has a future, because of you,” he pointed out gently. “I already made a plan for the guard rotations for you to post up, and it includes a heavy watch on this area for the arsonist responsible.”  
“What if it’s not enough?” she said through clenched teeth.  
He unhooked her garments and handed them to her. “Then at least you can say that you made an effort.”  
She quickly put them back on, despite how sore she was. “Aye, you should have that put on my gravestone, after I’ve inevitably taken a bullet through the head.”  
He looked her up and down steadily before holding her gaze. “If everyone in the city was as selfless as you, Raydon probably wouldn’t be such a mess.”  
Roza shrugged, winced as her bandages tugged tight and reached for the door handle.  
“Or we could issue you with a pistol of your own, and you can be the first to do all the head-shooting yourself,” he said jokingly.  
“Pretend I said nothing,” she said over her shoulder, “I think I’ve just been sober for too long.”  
Celeste found her guests in the foyer of her shop, offering them both a steaming cup of drinking chocolate. “Your bandages all fixed, captain?” she checked sweetly.  
“Aye,” Roza nodded, slumping her shoulders slightly. “You can call me Roza, if you like. I’ll get my uncle to have a look at your sign as soon as possible.”  
“No rush. Take a seat, and I’ll tell you what I know about the incident,” Celeste offered, elegantly brandishing her hand towards a cosy sitting area. Something beautiful and ingenious glinted on her wrist.  
Roza almost caught her hand, just to examine the wristwatch; she had heard of but never actually seen with her own eyes a Claylorne invention. “Is that a – ”  
“Yes, it is from Victor Claylorne’s very own collection,” she smiled pleasantly, taking a seat in one of the green felted armchairs beside the log burner.  
“Surely it’s priceless,” Roza marvelled.  
Vay’len set his drink down on the glossy coffee table, raising his thin eyebrows. “I’ve just had a thought. Will you excuse me, ladies?”  
“Fine, more hot cocoa for me,” Roza smirked, sitting opposite Celeste, perching on the edge of her chair. “It smells so good.”  
“Good day, Ms Alberona,” the elf gave them a swift, deep bow before disappearing out the front door.  
Celeste wore a courtly smile, to match her expensive clothes and beautifully styled caramel brown hair. “Naomi Quarette is very distraught right now, as you can imagine, so forgive me for not dragging her into your investigations,” she began.  
“I completely understand. I wouldn’t want to make her relive that night anyway,” Roza said sincerely.  
She appeared grateful, “I’m sure in time, Naomi will express her gratitude. For now, the girl will be in my care. She will have a home and a stable life here. I can’t bear to see her in an orphanage, turned out onto the streets after a few months. I can’t say that I didn’t see this coming,” Celeste said coolly, tracing her painted fingernails on the soft arm of her chair. “This city is run by thugs, King Varghese has no control anymore. The entire royal treasury went to rebuilding this country. There was nothing left to aid the poor and the misfortunate, so they all became petty thieves and con-artists. I’ve spent almost half of the Alberona fortune just to keep my business afloat and protected.”  
“You have personal body guards?”  
“I certainly do,” Celeste nodded her head. “But what good were they? They might have stopped this whole district from burning down the other night, but my neighbour still lost her life. Ms Zarah Quarette was kind and she was a blessing to our community, and it is almost too much for me to bear her loss.”  
Roza finished her cup of chocolate and moved onto Vay’len’s, but she listened carefully and she watched intently.  
“I was under the impression that the crime here was organised, that I only needed to track down a few ringleaders,” she said.  
“If you can call blackmailing and murdering and bribing organised crime. But yes, they have got cocky and audacious – they think themselves as some sort of a guild – I couldn’t tell you who the leader is, but they call themselves The Ravens,” Celeste informed, now digging her nails into the armchair.  
“I can’t believe no one has done anything about this,” Roza grimaced.  
“No one can. There is no cash flow to pay people to fix this, there is no one brave enough to fight this. Perhaps you will get close, but you must watch your back and you will have to always sleep with one eye open,” she said with a hushed, cold voice, “I’m sorry, Captain, but that’s just the way it is around here.”  
“I see.”  
“You best keep an eye on your partner’s back as well, he means well but I don’t think he is aware of the evil and corruption of our fellow humans,” Celeste advised.  
“My partner?” Roza puzzled.  
“Mr Nailir, I thought you were hired to the guard force to work together on this crucial case?”  
“I’m guard captain, he works for me.”  
Celeste chuckled faintly, “Apologies, I never got that impression from him.” 

Chapter Five  
Fire Forged 

Roza wasted none of her day. She left the sweet, warm atmosphere of Celeste’s chocolate shop and followed the iron posted signs towards the craft district. Rain water drizzled down her hood and burning pain rippled down her back. Each step was agonising, but she had learnt long ago that pain was all in the mind, and it could be overcome.  
She didn’t expect the search for her uncle’s forge to take as long as it did, almost an hour of walking the winding and confusing roads and alleyways of the industrial part of Raydon. Celeste’s words kept springing to mind, “you must watch your back,” every time she was met with a dead end alley. But finally she found a forge with an understated gilded sign with her uncle’s initials on.  
Roza lowered her hood as she entered the sweltering smithy. “You couldn’t have made your forge more difficult to find,” she complained.  
Hunter grinned broadly, using a thick pair of tongs to insert a length of metal into his forge. “You know me, I don’t want to attract the wrong sort of crowd,” he chortled, “What happened to your hair?” as it was now, her uncle’s matching bright blond hair was longer than her own, pushed back with a black headband whilst he worked.  
“Hazards of the new job,” she replied, helping herself to his pitcher of water.  
“Been keeping busy? I was expecting you to visit sooner.”  
“Aye, I arrived here only a few days ago. Misplaced my recruitment letter, didn’t I?”  
Hunter checked his metalwork briefly, chuckling into the heat, “I expect Georgia threw it out with a pile of Theo’s endless poetry.”  
“I suspect so,” Roza agreed after downing a cup of water.  
“How are the swords treating you?” he inquired enthusiastically.  
“Perfectly. Saved my ass more times than I’d gladly admit.”  
Hunter twisted his project in the heat, raising his pale eyebrows. “You wouldn’t have got the letter I sent, I suppose?”  
“No, I’ve been stuck on the sea for longer than I’d like to remember.”  
“Sathera and I are having a baby,” he announced happily, his deep brown eyes glowing just as brightly as his forge.  
“Really? That’s amazing,” Roza said with a big grin, “Finally, a little cousin. About time, you’re not exactly gettin’ any younger.”  
Hunter almost dropped his work, “There’s far too much of Theo in you.”  
She hoisted herself up onto one of his hefty work benches and sniggered. “You picture whatever you want, uncle, I never had that sort of a relationship with father.”  
“What – I didn’t mean – ” he stumbled, eventually he snorted with laughter.  
“I take my words back. You’re still just as immature as I remember.”  
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Hunter bowed his head and drew his metal from the fire. “It’s about to get noisy.”  
“When you’re finished there, do you think you could fix a sign I broke?”  
“Here a few days, and already broken something? You’re definitely Theo’s daughter,” he observed, picking up his hammer and taking his work to his anvil.  
“You haven’t read today’s newspaper, have you?” she inquired.  
Hunter smashed his hammer down onto the red-hot metal and sparks began to fly. “Judging by the tone in your voice, I don’t think I want to read it. Who’s sign is it?”  
“Celeste Alberona; chocolatier, trend-setter and my next conquest,” Roza said with a dreamy smile.  
“Chocolate shop? Heaven’s Treat? I remember,” he agreed, talking in between swings of his big hammer, “Shouldn’t be a problem.”  
Roza hopped off the edge of the table and rushed towards her uncle, “You’re the best, uncle Phoenix.”  
“Haven’t heard that nickname in a while,” he said warmly.  
She patted his shoulder, grinning wickedly, “I’m surprised you don’t make Sathera call you that in the bedroom.”  
His hammer nearly missed his work, “For pity’s sake.”  
Roza pinched an apple from his fruit-bowl and laughed behind it. “Do you know where I can find Lorne?”  
“Lorne Hölzer?”  
“Who else?”  
Sparks continued to fly, “He’s at the university.”  
She bit into a large chunk of apple and chewed. “I don’t believe you,” she almost spat her food out.  
“No? See for yourself. He works at the library, updating maps.”  
Roza sniggered into her apple, “Do I need to make an appointment?”  
“Probably,” Hunter said, wiping sweat from his forehead, “But you are Raydon’s guard captain, remember?”  
“Of course, it is strictly a professional visit,” she grinned and pushed the rest of the apple – core and all – into her mouth. 

***

The Silverstone University was much easier to locate, due to the fact that it was a massive silver building, towering above the city and placed upon a sprawling garden, full of old trees and blossoming flowers. Roza crossed the well kept grass and trimmed rose bushes to push open the dark oak front doors. It was stuffy inside, filled with smells that she associated with knowledge; dusty old books, the faint waft of coffee, presumably drunk by the scholars that needed help staying awake.  
A long nosed man sat at the reception desk, taking one look at her fancy uniform before sliding a visitor’s book towards her. “Good afternoon, Captain. Please fill in your name, signature and a timestamp.”  
“What time is it?” she asked.  
The receptionist looked displeased, “Its four-thirty-seven.”  
“Right,” she stuck her tongue out between her teeth and signed her name. “Need I sign anything else to get into the library?”  
The man dragged his book back towards himself. “Is it true? You’re a Kiezar?”  
Roza thinned her eyes, “Yes.”  
“You don’t look Imperial,” he pointed out.  
“You don’t look like an intellectual,” she countered, leaning against his desk.  
The receptionist looked horrified. “How dare you?”  
“Captain,” a man called from behind her. He’d somehow appeared from an unseen door, carrying a tall stack of books in his arms. “You just missed your analyst.”  
“I did?” she turned on her heel to greet the stranger.  
He smiled cheerfully, floppy brown hair mostly covering his alert eyes. “Vay’len Nailir, were you looking for him?”  
“No,” Roza replied slowly, “I was looking for Lorne Hölzer, actually.”  
“Ah. He’s on the west-wing. I can take you there if you like?” the man informed helpfully, “I am Alders Midge, it’s an honour to finally meet a Gardozian knight.”  
“I’m not a knight, at least not yet,” she corrected.  
The scholar set his books down on the grumpy receptionists’ desk and beckoned for her to follow. “Apologies, my knowledge is well versed on mystery, magic and the arcane, and not so much on battles and military ranks.”  
“Is that why Vay’len came to see you?”  
Alders nodded, tucking his hands deep into his baggy brown robes. “He’s been a friend of mine for a while now. It’s fascinating how there are just as many differences as there are similarities between our cultures.”  
“If you say so,” she said whimsically, following him up a narrow spiral staircase of pure stone. She had to squeeze her broad shoulders between the walls, until they reached the upper level corridor.  
“Apparently you’re investigating an arsonist case?” Alders said with high interest.  
“Aye.”  
“Well, it’s this room here,” he gestured to an old fashioned door with a name plaque on the front: L. Hölzer.  
Roza had grown up idolising Lorne, he’d undoubtedly been the first man she had ever had a crush on – a girlish, innocent crush – all the same, she hadn’t seen him in years. She felt suddenly nervous to knock on the door.  
“Everything all right?” Alders checked kindly.  
“Yes, thank you, Alders. You were very helpful.”  
The scholar bowed respectfully before taking his leave, “Hope to see you again, Ms Kiezar.”  
She bashed her undamaged fist against the small door.  
“Who’s there?” his voice rumbled from within.  
“An old friend,” she called back.  
The door opened a fraction and Lorne peered through the gap. Two obsidian black eyes piercing through Roza like a bolt of electricity. “Well, if it isn’t Rozaline Kiezar,” he uttered wryly, fully opening the door to his study room. “You got… big.”  
“You got old,” she teased, pinching at the flecks of grey in his jet black hair.  
He flicked the end of her nose in retaliation before returning to his desk. “You don’t have to leap out the window, Seth, it’s only Roza.”  
A familiar looking man sat on the wide window ledge, casually pulling the window shut.  
“You’re that scruffy looking merc,” she remembered, pointing a finger at the man.  
“Scruffy looking?” he repeated dryly.  
“Yeah, he’s one of my guys,” Lorne added, stuffing a stick of liquorice into his mouth. “He made an unsuccessful attempt of earning your trust.”  
Seth frowned, curling his legs up into his chest to fit better on the ledge. But he remained quiet and non-argumentative.  
“What’s a scoundrel like you doing at Silverstone, anyway?” Roza demanded, taking a seat on the corner of his work desk.  
“The ultimate disguise, right?” Lorne said, brimming with charm and humour. “I could ask you the same thing. I’m surprised Theo didn’t send you to Claynore to help with the war effort.”  
“He thinks I’m not ready to fight Moriquen yet,” she said with a hint of complaint.  
“True, you don’t want to end up like me,” he chuckled, pointing to the long scar across his chin, “Or worse, like Kayzu. Liquorice?” he offered her a treat from a paper bag.  
Kayzu, the one armed prince, how could Roza forget all the sacrifices the prince had made for their empire? She took a dark sweet and began to nibble on it.  
“I presume you’re here to get a few leads on the criminal activity,” Lorne said, offering the bag to Seth as well. He refused with a dead-cold stare.  
“Aye, I meant to get here sooner, but –”  
“But you’ve been throwing yourself into burning buildings,” he finished for her, raising a dark eyebrow as he glossed over the map in front of him.  
“You read the newspaper?” she cringed slightly.  
“Thankfully your mother isn’t here to read it,” Lorne smirked, latticing his fingers together. “Anyway, Mr Rannen here is your man. He’s a well established Raven, but he works for us.”  
“He’s your spy?” Roza scrutinised.  
“Known him for a good few years now. Remind me, how old were you when Ayrev was sieged by that giant wurm?” Lorne asked conversationally, turning his head to the window to study his spy as he tried to recall his memory.  
“I was ten,” he grumbled. “Don’t ask me to retell the story.”  
“The one in which you saw me fighting valiantly alongside Kayzu Avery’s and Varghese Hollington’s side?”  
Seth grumbled again, rolling his grey eyes towards the windowpanes.  
“My point is, Seth is an Ayrevian through and through. He’s grown up with the rebuilding of the city, and unfortunately fell in with the wrong sort of gangs. But I don’t think you forget watching your home get destroyed, do you?” Lorne explained.  
“The Ravens started out as vigilantes, as do-gooders with a purpose,” Seth went on, “But somewhere down the line, things went horribly wrong. I found myself deeply wrapped up in a criminal organisation, where we had once been detectives and monster hunters, now we are just taking advantage of the desperate and the weak.”  
“Did you make him rehearse that?” Roza teased.  
“No,” Lorne uttered with mock surprise. “The point is, you won’t find a more loyal ally than Seth Rannen.”  
Seth sighed inwardly and looked as if he might actually jump out of the window.  
“He’s been keeping the thugs off my brother’s back for quite a while now,” Lorne pointed out.  
“I don’t know how much longer that will last, with the new boss around,” Seth grumbled.  
“Well, they will get a nasty surprise if they do decide to break into Victor’s shop,” he pointed out again, chuckling darkly. Lorne checked his Claylorne pocket-watch and stretched his arms above his head. “Hayley should be finished soon. Why don’t you join us for dinner, Roza?”  
“What’s she finishing?” she asked, trying to recall the last time she had seen Hayley Hölzer, perhaps four, or five years ago?  
“She tends the gardens here,” Lorne replied, wearing a true smile of pride as he thought about his daughter.  
“That must be a big job. I’ll see if she needs a hand,” Roza said, finishing off her liquorice and sliding off the desk. 

Chapter Six  
The Woman Who Knew Too Much

Roza moved fast through the luscious university gardens, ignoring her burns, invigorated by her meeting with Lorne and excited to finally meet Hayley again. She wondered if she would recognise the young woman. Will she recognise me?  
She knelt in front of a thick row of daffodils, pulling weeds out of the rich soil. Honey blond hair plaited and falling across her left shoulder, her pale pink skirt damp from the soggy grass.  
“Hayley?” Roza checked, startling the gardener.  
She twisted onto her feet to face the captain and beamed, “Roza! I’d hug you, but I’m covered –”  
Roza didn’t care about Hayley’s muddy hands or wet clothes. She picked her old friend up off the ground, embracing her tightly.  
Hayley giggled brightly, “That was risky, look how clean your uniform is. How tall you are!”  
“Your hair’s so long,” she pointed out.  
“Thank you,” the gardener smiled. “How was the journey here?”  
“Rough and unplanned, but I got here in the end.”  
Hayley returned to her weeding and Roza squatted down to help.  
“Do you study here?” Roza wondered.  
“Nope, I don’t like being inside for too long. I love the books from the library though. I always pick a new one to read and take it out here, listen to the birds singing. I can’t wait for summer to come, for all the lavender to bloom. That’s my favourite time of year,” Hayley said thoughtfully, “Sorry, I went off on a bit of a rant there.”  
“No you didn’t,” Roza chuckled, glancing at her friend, making eye-contact to reassure her. “Tell me more.”  
Hayley smiled warmly, noting how similar Roza’s eyes were to the leaves and stems of the daffodils and felt instantly at ease. “I have a market stall on weekends to sell all the flowers I grow.”  
“I’d love to see your stall. They do pay you to garden, though?”  
“Of course,” Hayley said, “We’re never short of funds, I just enjoy the work, keeping my hands busy.”  
“Aye, I can agree with that,” Roza said, ripping out weeds with her coarse, scarred hands felt slightly therapeutic and she could appreciate the joy in gardening. “Who does own Silverstone? Is it the Hollingtons?”  
“Sort of. It’s a bit confusing, but as I take it, the Hollingtons couldn’t pay for the upkeep of the university, so a wealthy Duke bought it about fifty years ago. The Duke passed it onto his son, Abraham Vandele, who married Princess Melody Hollington. Abraham passed away a few years ago, leaving no heirs, so Silverstone technically belongs to the Princess now. She visits quite often,” Hayley informed.  
“You’ve been reading a lot of history books, aye?” Roza said with a laugh. “Have you met the princess, then? Or duchess, I suppose she owns both titles?”  
Hayley nodded with a smile, “I’ve met her. She’s very lovely, she said I could call her Melody. But it’s very overwhelming to talk to her. I get very shy, and she asks me what books to suggest for her to read, and I feel I could faint.”  
Roza tilted her head and raised her eyebrows, “Why? She is still a human. She breathes and lives and will die the same way as us.”  
“True,” she muttered thoughtfully, “Perhaps I aspire to be as refined as her, as graceful, kind, elegant and wise as her. Melody fills me with inspiration and that could be what I find so overwhelming? But also the daunting fact that I will never be royal?”  
“You never know, the princess does have brothers, aye?”  
“Roza,” Hayley giggled and blushed, brushing her soil covered hands together. “We should get washed up before dinner.” 

***

The Hölzers lived in a homely house on the outskirts of the city. The walk didn’t take too long, and the rain clouds broke apart to let a warm setting sun light up their pathway. Hayley held onto her father’s arm for the journey, listing off all the flowers that she would pick and sell at the market in a few days.  
There was something so utterly pure about their relationship. Roza watched them together, how warmly they treated each other. Once inside the redbrick, terrace house, Lorne and his daughter worked harmoniously together to whip up a meal.  
Roza helped out, peeling potatoes and vegetables to add to the roast joint of honey glazed gammon. She couldn’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy for Hayley, for all the attention that she got as an only child, free to pick her own choices in life.  
“Seth didn’t want to join us then?” Roza asked playfully, sitting at the country-style dining table, steam wafting from the hot food on her plate.  
“He never comes here,” Lorne said, sat at the other side of the table from the two women, he began cutting into his food. “I don’t think he wants to invade Hay’s privacy.”  
“Even though I always invite him around when I meet him,” Hayley pointed out.  
“He knows what I did to the last man that you invited around,” he said with a slight hint of bitterness.  
“Dad,” she turned red and quickly filled up her own and Roza’s wineglasses with a golden coloured wine.  
“Roza ought to know,” Lorne said, “In case that bastard tries to show his face in Raydon again.”  
“I do have a good eye for spotting complete bastards,” Roza winked. “What’s his name?”  
“Henrik,” Hayley replied uneasily, taking a sip from her glass. “He was a guard. He always bought my flowers, every weekend without fail. I had a dispute with a thief one day, but Henrik showed up to save me.”  
Lorne quickly swallowed his mouthful of gammon. “I’m still convinced that he paid that thief to jump you,” he uttered sceptically.  
“We’ll never know,” she shrugged and continued, “I met up with Henrik a lot, he visited often. He claimed he wanted to marry me.”  
Her father scoffed into his food.  
“But,” Hayley’s voice broke slightly and she stopped to apologise, “He owed people money. He had gambling debts, and I’m sure he only wooed me so he could take my money. We helped him out so many times, don’t get me wrong, we were aware of his bad ways, but we never shut the door on him. Henrik still continued to take bribes from criminals and gangs.”  
“We gave him a year to clean his act up,” Lorne said with frustration, cutting into his food aggressively. “Which I already thought was too generous.”  
“It still hurt me. Henrik could be sweet and romantic, he was always there for me, and I never felt lonely. Maybe if Raydon wasn’t such a desperate place to live, things would have been different.”  
“I’ve told you, Hawkeyes, we can live anywhere you want,” her father offered, his aggression ebbing away.  
“I love the gardens here, the plants love the rain, everything grows as it should,” she said, and smiled at the sound of her nickname, “And I have no worries of dark elves attacking us here.”  
“All very valid points,” he agreed, “I think saving humankind once in my lifetime was already tasking enough.”  
“So what did you do to Henrik?” Roza asked, finishing her food before refilling her wineglass.  
“Oh, I took him to Sathera’s,” Lorne replied absentmindedly.  
Her uncle’s partner and Hayley’s godmother, the ruthless business woman had an uncanny way of seeing through lies and facades. Roza wouldn’t be surprised if Sathera took one piercing look at Henrik and his manhood shrivelled up.

Chapter Seven  
Shades of Red 

It was lucky that Lorne had hired a carriage for Roza and directed the driver where to go. She had lost count of how many glasses of wine she had drank and the new city still felt completely unfamiliar.  
She stumbled into her office, finding Red still there, finishing off the last few file-cabinets. “Thank goodness,” her assistant said with a sleepy smile, “I was about to send out a search party.”  
“Sorry, I was having dinner with some old friends,” she explained, feeling slightly guilty for leaving Red with all of the paperwork. “Is there anything left to sort?”  
“Uhm,” he zoned out slightly, glancing around the dimly lit room. “Not really, I’ve organised it all into how urgent a report needs your attention – particularly the ones stacked on your desk.”  
“That still looks like an unnerving amount of work,” Roza said with a sigh.  
“What did you imagine this job to be? Simple?” Red muttered bluntly.  
She was taken aback slightly. Roza wasn’t the type to be easily surprised, but there was a definite shift in Red’s mood, suppose he’s tired, she excused. “I thought there would be more fighting and less paperwork, aye,” she said honestly, putting her hands around her hips. “Why else hire me?”  
“I didn’t mean to snap, I’m sorry,” he sighed, rubbing his tired eyes. “Don’t worry about it. I can assign people to pick up these cases, whilst you use your intuition to crack down on the root of the crime problems.”  
“I – I,” Roza stuttered, unusually lost for words. She wasn’t sure if she should be offended or grateful for his input, for assuming that he knew what she needed.  
“Besides, you’re meant to still be resting your wounds,” he said with a weak smile. “And I ought to go to bed.”  
“Michael?” she reached out for him as he walked past her.  
“Hmm?” he slowed, watching her carefully.  
“I know you’re exhausted and you’ve already done so much for me, but I know I won’t sleep tonight if you go,” Roza said with raw honesty. “I know myself too well. I’ll be back out on those streets, to drink myself into oblivion, and hopefully start a few fights. I’ll sleep all day and I’ll do no work, and everything will just pile up again.”  
He continued to watch her, wondering if she would add anything more or ask him a question. Instead he parted his full lips and asked, “Why?”  
“It’s just the way I am,” she replied with a hint of shame.  
Red knew what she wanted, it had been the only thing on his mind all day as he had sorted through each and every mundane report. He was too tired to care, or feel embarrassed in that moment. “I’ve never slept with anyone before,” he admitted.  
Roza let her hands fall to her sides, “Ah. If you’re not ready… if you’re saving yourself for someone special…”  
“You are special, Roza,” he said softly.  
“You know what I mean – someone more committal than me,” she slumped her shoulders and looked away, “Sometimes I hear myself and just cringe. Ignore me, okay? I’ve never had an assistant before – I shouldn’t be using you as a plaything.”  
“I could really use some company,” Red said. “I’ve shied away for too long, talked myself out of too many situations, worrying about the future and not enjoying the now. You survived one fire, but what about the next one? I know it will be my biggest regret if I just keep waiting around.”  
“Aye, life is pretty short,” Roza nodded, “I think I remember which room was mine.”  
Red took her unwounded hand, pressing his lips against her tanned fingers. “I’ll show you.” 

***

For Rozaline Kiezar standards, she took it slow with Red. On the first night they curled up together in her large bed, kissing until they succumbed to their exhaustion.  
Come morning, Roza woke up in agony; her back burning, her head pounding. Red fetched her a cup of water and a cold damp cloth for her headache until Vay’len arrived, with his magical healing balm and fresh bandages.  
“You’re looking a bit better,” the elf commented, tying up the end of the linen bandage.  
“I had some rest,” Roza grinned boisterously, “and a proper meal.”  
“You took heed of my words. I’m shocked,” Vay’len said sarcastically. Plopping a paper bag down beside her bed, he added, “I brought you some pine nuts. They’re very good for you and they will boost your energy.”  
“How generous of you.”  
“Yes. I do enjoy our little chats, but I have a busy schedule today,” the high elf said cordially, shutting his fabric satchel bag and leaving the side of her bed. Compared to Roza’s monochrome uniform, accented with green thread, Vay’len looked like a peacock. His long robes draped to his ankles, a two-tone shade of royal blue and emerald green, depending on the angle in which the fabric caught the light. His bag was dyed a deep blue as well, crammed full of books, ingredients, food and whatever else Roza imagined wizards carried around.  
“Say ‘Hello’ to Alders for me,” she continued to grin, waving him off.  
Vay’len held his head high as he departed from her room.  
“Breakfast and then I’ll show you how to make a guard rota?” Red suggested, returning to her doorway now that the elf had finished his medicating. His hair was damp from his bath, his eyes keen and refreshed from a long rest and his smile beautiful and ready to meet the day. 

@

Chapter Eight  
Iridescent Ideas

Roza spent most of her day in her office, learning her new job role and meeting almost every single city guard that now served under her. The day had been grey and wet yet again, so she didn’t mind staying inside too much. She only went out briefly for a run before dinner, changing out of her grand captain’s uniform first to keep it dry and clean.  
The barracks next to the guard tower had its own self-serving kitchen, complete with a cast iron stove, a long dinning table and rows of sturdy chairs. It was where Roza met Red, to dry off whilst he cooked eggs and bacon in a pan.  
She removed her soggy sweatshirt, wringing water out of it over the industrial sized steel sink. “They think I’m too young, don’t they?”  
Red puzzled for a moment, flipping the bacon over. “Your guards?”  
She nodded and began squeezing water out of her short hair. “Some of them are old enough to be my father,” she said. “Shall I put the kettle on?”  
He reached up to a shelf next to the stove, pulling down a stainless steel kettle for her to fill with water.  
“They hear Imperial but they see a Menosian, with hardly any leadership experience. I raised the ranks at home, but not here in Ayrev. They see two things; that I’m a woman and I’m too young,” she continued to voice her concerns.  
“They see a Kiezar as well, a skilled swordswoman,” Red reassured.  
Roza put the heavy kettle onto the other ring of the stove and began laying the table for the pair of them.  
“Why? Did you hear any of them talking about you?” he asked.  
“No, they don’t have to open their mouths. I see it in their eyes.”  
“Maybe you’re just being paranoid?” he said lightly, opening the oven door to take out the loaf of bread that had been warming.  
“Maybe I am. But I’ve been taught how to read people well. Duelling isn’t just about being fast and strong, it’s about psychology as well. Confidence, anticipating the next move, reading other people’s minds,” Roza said, finding a pot of tea leaves and a strainer.  
“Well, I have heard them talking and especially looking forward to your arrival here. They want you to train them to be better fighters. They talk about the tournaments you’ve won, as if you’re a legend,” Red said enthusiastically, and began plating up the fried food.  
She found a bread knife too and began to slice the loaf up, “Really?”  
“Yes,” he smiled and sat down at the table with her.  
“I think the paperwork overwhelmed me a bit today,” she admitted, tucking into her food. “Perhaps being guard captain isn’t all that different from being an army lieutenant.”  
“It’s still a promotion, it’s a big deal. Raydon is your city,” Red affirmed, pausing to hop out of his seat and fetch the steaming kettle, “And you’re going to have the best Viscar-damned guard force that is going to crush criminal activity into the dirt.”  
“I like your optimism,” she complimented, “I see why Vay’len assigned you to me.”  
“I’m glad he did,” Red said, his eyes lit up with passion, his smile grew even bigger.  
They finished their dinner and took their mugs of tea back to her room to plan and envision a training regime, to make Raydon’s guards efficient and the city a safer place. Soon they were all talked out and Roza’s lips found his, her hands explored his lean body. They fooled around together long into the night, but Roza held back, never pressured Red to go further.  
She did not trust easily, she always had a sceptical eye and she was fully self-aware of how intimidating she was. I love these qualities about myself, she thought, curling up to Red, both semi-naked and satisfied. She was beginning to trust him, respect and like him. She didn’t want to hurt him, didn’t want to give him any false hopes or delusions that she would change her self-destructive ways, her non-committal ways. How could I ever commit again – to risk losing it all again? How many scars can my body take?

***

Vay’len’s knock on the door arrived earlier than usual. Roza was barely awake, but Red flew out of her bed, recovering his scattered garments and hurriedly putting his green guard uniform back on before the elf could enter.  
She chuckled and rubbed the sleep from her eyes, “You’re here early, Nurse Vay’len.”  
One corner of his thin mouth quirked up into a brief smirk, but his bright blue eyes remained wide and alert, excited by his breakthrough, “I’ve got a lead. A good one, but a delicate one. I thought I should consult you first.”  
“Alright,” Roza rolled out of her bed, wearing only her underwear and the bandages wrapped around her torso.  
Vay’len’s eyes quickly flitted to Red, with a scrutinising look, as if he had only just noticed the man there. He turned back to Roza once she had pulled on her leggings and splashed some water on her face.  
“I’ll make some tea?” Red suggested in a high pitched, awkward voice.  
Roza chuckled again as he rushed out of the room. She stood with her back to Vay’len, helping to unbandage the linen strips. “What’s the lead then?”  
“Victor Claylorne,” he replied.  
“Lorne’s half-brother? But he’s no jewel thief, or an arsonist, unless… an experiment gone wrong?” she speculated.  
“In a way, yes. I know his father, a scholar and a teacher and a druid,” Vay’len began.  
“Oh right, Victor is a half-elf, I forgot,” Roza interrupted.  
“Druids are fairly rare, pure born Hölzers are even rarer. Victor’s parents made him out of ambition, not love. But he was born with neither of their gifts or talents of the descendant of the God-Slayer,” he continued haughtily.  
“Are you sure? Victor is the smartest person I know.”  
“I’ll pretend to not be offended by that remark,” Vay’len joked dryly, smearing the cooling salve onto her back. “Your burns look better.”  
“What’s your point, though?” she asked with a crooked grin.  
“I have a theory that Victor’s son has in fact inherited these talents, perhaps through his mix of elven, human and llichivar blood, or some other means, the young man is showing mage-like signs. That fire that was started before I arrived here? It was close to Victor’s shop, but no one filed for insurance claims, as if the inventor used bribes to cover up any sort of investigation. I’ve checked every school, every directory and file, but I still can’t find any proof that Victor’s son is a citizen of this city, no proof that Jamie Claylorne is even a real person.”  
“How did you find out about him, then?” Roza wondered curiously.  
“Because his mother found me. She knew that I was investigating the fire, that it was only a matter of time for me to find out who had started it. She didn’t want me to assume that her son was evil, but instead he was scared and unable to control his powers,” he explained.  
“Sounds like Victor is scared too, if he’s been hiding his son from the world,” Roza said, her words full of pity.  
“Can you blame him? Mages were hunted to near extinction, thanks to a certain era of Menosian ruler-ship.”  
“But your – ” she puzzled.  
Vay’len cut her off, “I’m a wizard, not a mage. I wasn’t born with fire at my fingertips and lightning in my blood. I’ve had to study and learn the complexities and foundations of our universe, straying just beyond it to pluck the chords of another reality, defying the laws of nature before even beginning to imagine how to summon a spark of fire.”  
“Seems I touched a nerve,” she grinned, tying up her bandages whilst the elf passionately corrected her.  
“It’s a long learning process, and I’m barely scratching the surface.”  
“How old are you, anyway?” Roza had been wondering for a while.  
“I’m a hundred years old,” he replied quietly. “If my calculations are right, you’re nine-teen?”  
“Aye, that’s insane. I can’t imagine being as old as you are, no offence,” she teased and began to dress in her bright white uniform.  
“Days go by very fast,” Vay’len said solemnly. “In elven years, we’re more or less the same age, Ms Kiezar.”  
“If ya say so,” she said, putting on her green sash. “Where were we anyway? We need to go pay the Claylorne’s a visit?”  
“Ah, yes. According to his mother, Jamie has been missing for several weeks now. And due to the fact that the Quarette jewellery was stolen before the shop caught fire, the young mage might be working with, or being manipulated by The Ravens,” Vay’len informed, straightening the cuffs of his iridescent robes. “I tried to ask Victor some questions about it all yesterday, but he kicked me out of his shop.”  
Roza laughed, “That sounds like Victor. Hold on, maybe Seth will have some info.”  
“Who is Seth?”  
“He’s my new spy,” she grinned.  
“I see,” he drawled with his chin held high. 

Chapter Nine  
The Inventor 

Roza returned to the craft district of the circular shaped city with Vay’len at her side. Taking advantage of the unusually dry weather, they had strolled the cobblestone pavements and discussed how exactly they would get Victor Claylorne to answer a few questioned.  
Seth was waiting for them beneath the over hanging sign of the shop; Claylorne’s Innovations. It was tucked away behind smithies, bakeries and carpenter stalls, a sleek and slender black veneered building with silver lined windows, displaying all sorts of gadgets and inventions.  
“I have a last resort,” Vay’len finalised, as the three of them grouped up, “During the war here, my mother saved Victor’s life.”  
“You’re going to try guilt him into helping us?” Roza said with a smirk, “I doubt that will work.”  
“I knew his mother as well. She used to visit our home often, before she disappeared.”  
“Definitely don’t bring Victor’s mother into this,” she warned. “She was as abusive as they come.”  
“I never knew that,” Vay’len uttered with genuine surprise.  
“How do you think his arm got so busted?”  
“Let me talk to Jim’s mother first,” Seth cut in with a grumble, hunching into his tan leather coat.  
“Jim?” Roza frowned.  
“Do his parents call him James?” he asked, reaching for the shop door.  
“Jamie,” Vay’len corrected, ducking his head down to fit inside the building.  
Roza snorted slightly, only just registering how unfortunately tall the elf was. Her whole family were tall and long legged, but Vay’len still towered over her by almost an extra foot. Seth, on the other hand was shorter than both of them.  
They met with the pale, stick-thin woman at the dark shop counter, idly wiping away specks of dust. “Can I help you find anything?” she offered quietly, forcing a polite smile. “Please refrain from touching anything.” The shop owner glanced up with her vibrant blue eyes, “Oh, Rozaline, is that you?”  
“What gave it away?” she grinned broadly, leaning against the front of the counter.  
“You look just like Georgia,” she pointed out, “But you have your father’s eyes.”  
“How are you, Violet?”  
“I’ve been better,” she sighed and blinked behind her purple rimmed spectacles. “Did you hear the news? About my mother?”  
Roza beamed, “Yes, I’ve got a cousin on the way.”  
“Your uncle can’t wait to be a father,” Violet said with a simpering tone.  
“I know. He’s going to be insufferable,” she joked.  
She blinked rapidly again to remove her glazed-over expression, “Were you looking to get something?”  
“Hoping to have a talk with you and Victor, actually,” Roza said delicately.  
“About Jamie?” Violet asked breathlessly, glancing up higher to study the elf standing in her shop again.  
“He’s very close to the boss of the Ravens,” Seth informed, folding his thick arms. “He’s quite untouchable, in fact.”  
“What does that mean? You need to arrest him?” she worried.  
“He’s just a small piece of a very large problem within Raydon,” Vay’len said diplomatically.  
“There’s nothing small about Jamie,” Victor said, descending the staircase behind the counter, the intricate metal bracer around his left arm rattling and clinking. “I can’t concentrate at all. I should have known a Kiezar was down here. And you. I already told you to leave yesterday.”  
Vay’len gracefully took a few cautious steps backwards, eyeing the marvellous inventor.  
“Do you know where we can find Jamie?” Roza asked coolly.  
“No,” Victor replied bluntly.  
“Do you know why he’s setting fire to buildings?” she continued to interrogate, her voice turning into a husky growl.  
“I’d ask him if I knew where he was,” he countered, rounding the sales counter to confront the guard captain. He was short and thin like his wife, but that did not detract from his intimidation.  
Roza glanced over her shoulder, “Seth? Do you know?”  
The Raven sighed lazily. “He’s in the highest ranks of the gang, he’s Belinda Gray’s right-hand man. I’ve been a Raven almost my whole life, and I’ve never been invited into the boss’ inner circle,” he uttered, “Jim showed up a month ago and showed his worth. There were rumours of him being a mage. He is a mage, isn’t he?”  
“Yes,” Vay’len said, holding his chin high.  
“I knew we should have asked the high elves for help,” Violet whimpered.  
“No,” Victor said coldly, staring at his wife coldly. “His grandfather would have taken him away, we would never have seen Jamie again. I’m relying on this Eladrin to not run back to Syl’radin city and tell his elders about our son.”  
Vay’len almost scoffed, “As if my kin would deign to meddle with mortal affairs.”  
“Yet, you’re here,” Roza raised her eyebrow, confronting the elf.  
“I’m pretty sure they would meddle if they knew a mage could be used for the war effort in the east,” Victor argued, turning his cold gaze towards Vay’len. “You are Cezar Nailir’s son, are you not?”  
“I am,” the elf subconsciously braced for an incoming insult.  
“You look a lot like Vynna,” he observed. “Isn’t your family honour-bound to seal away Moriquen? Those dark creatures must have a large vendetta towards the Nailir name for locking them away for so many centuries. Yet, I have not seen Cezar lending a hand. No, he stays far away on this island, letting the Equilibrium Empire, the Solaris Kingdom and Salazi line fight his war for him. Unless… Unless he sent you here, to find Jamie and use him as a weapon. That’s all anyone ever thinks about.”  
“That’s not why I’m here,” Vay’len said, pressing his palms together. “The Ravens are already using him as a weapon. I just want you to have your son back.”  
“Why aren’t you contributing to the war?” Roza asked the inventor blatantly, “I thought you built weapons?”  
“I suppose it was only a matter of time,” Victor uttered, flexing his fingers, wincing from the strain to his left arm. “You might want to be responsible for spreading death and destruction, but I hope to be remembered in history for other reasons.”  
“Heh,” Roza smirked, not bothering to argue. Without fighting and surviving, there wouldn’t be any history to write, but she knew her burdens and she carried them alone.  
“Please, find him,” Violet said miserably, “I’ll do anything.”  
“Consider this,” Roza said, her words just as sharp as her blades. “Jamie is responsible for the death of Zarah Quarette, and severe trauma to Naomi. Nothing can bring her back to life, but you owe that family a huge amount of compensation. I’ll find Jamie, I’ll bring him back to you, but I can’t promise that this city won’t demand blood.”  
“He can’t help – he can’t control it – he’s just a boy,” Violet pleaded, steadying herself against her counter.  
But Roza was already marching her way out of the lavish shop.  
“I’ll see what I can do,” Vay’len said softly. “Do you perhaps have something he owns here? An item of clothing he has worn would make it easier for me to track him down?”  
Violet dashed up the stairs, her jet black ponytail flapping behind her.  
“If you hurt my son, you’ll live to regret it,” Victor threatened menacingly before returning upstairs.  
Violet soon rushed back into the shop area, holding out a pair of navy rimmed spectacles. “It’s his spare pair, will it do?”  
“Excellent,” Vay’len smiled kindly, popping the eyewear into his satchel. “Does he enjoy reading?”  
“Yes, and drawing,” the mother replied dotingly. “He told me he has visions in his dreams and he draws them so vividly. I’d show you the sketches, but he took his journal with him when he – he left.”  
“Interesting,” Vay’len trailed off. “I’ll see what I can do, Ms Claylorne. Rest assure, I can ward against his magic. You can have my word that I will not harm Jamie, but he might not be pleased with me.”  
She nodded, watching the elf and the Raven spy leave her shop.  
They met with Roza, pacing up and down in the narrow alleyway, fuming with rage.  
“You know, I could track him down,” Seth offered grouchily.  
“Are you some sort of sniffer-dog?” Roza teased.  
He raised his dark eyebrows, but he still looked tired and ill-tempered. “I told you, I hunt monsters.”  
She stopped her pacing, “What kind of monsters?”  
“I wouldn’t want you to lose sleep over it, Captain.”  
“Worse than Moriquen?” she wondered, as if he was giving her a challenge.  
“Please allow me to take a more peaceful approach first,” Vay’len said, studying Seth for a long moment.  
“Right,” Seth grumbled, pushing his hands into his coat pockets and taking a few long strides down the alley. “Contact Lorne if you require my assistance again.”  
“There’s something not quite right about him,” Vay’len said quietly once the spy was out of earshot. “He works for Victor’s half-brother?”  
“A lot people do,” Roza shrugged it off.  
“I wonder what he’s getting out of it,” he murmured. “And do you think Lorne even knows he has a nephew?”  
She shrugged again, “You should pay Lorne a visit the next time you go for one of your little meetings with Alders,” she said suggestively with a large playful grin.  
“Why do I feel like you’re implying that I have a sexual relationship with the scholar?”  
Roza laughed and began her journey back to the guard tower.  
Vay’len tutted and frowned, “He’s just a friend, honestly. You have the strangest mind.” 

***

Red joined Roza in her room again at nightfall. The wounds on Roza’s back tingled and tormented her, but Red held her gaze and caressed her face, distracting her from the pain. Always only ever a distraction, she mused to herself.  
Clouds filled the dark sky, sending down pouring rain that pattered against her lattice windows. “I want to – I’m ready to,” Red stumbled over his words, “At least try to, make-love?”  
“Is that what we’re calling it?” Roza purred.  
His cheeks flushed with colour, but Roza pulled him towards her bed and onto her lips. He was already a good kisser, Roza had not at all been unsatisfied the past few nights. She gradually began to remove her clothes and help Red out of his uniform, pressing her lips against his chest.  
“Tell me if you need me to stop, okay?” she said with so much understanding and intimacy, climbing on top of Red, “Even if you want to take a breather or –”  
He cut her off, pressing his lips against hers again. Red had never wanted for anything, had never imagined that he would ever lay naked with a woman so beautiful. So beautiful, he couldn’t form any words, all he knew was the warmth and the touch and the taste of Roza. Her skin was so soft, so perfect, marred with hundreds of scars, yet still so beautiful.  
Naked, except for the bandages wrapped heavily around Roza’s torso. Red was completely bare beneath her, and she let her hands explore, stroke and play until his breathing was heavy and rough. She lowered her hips down, connecting their bodies, giving Red a moment to adjust and savour his first time with a woman. It was a sweet and tender moment. Making-love to Red felt much more enjoyable than a quick, sweaty romp at a brothel.  
He quickly got the hang of moving to the rhythm of Roza’s body, lowering his hands to stroke her backside. She moaned and uttered his name in his ear, and he tipped over the edge completely.  
She briefly, genuinely smiled as Red stared up at her, pulling the hair back from her face to admire every inch of it in the dim moonlight. Roza bit her lip, showing a more feminine side, what she felt to be – despite her mother always telling her she was strong – a more vulnerable and gentle side. “How was it?”  
“Not what I expected,” Red replied breathlessly.  
She rolled off him and back onto the bed, kissing his cheek softly, “In a good way I hope.”  
“Yes,” he chuckled, “Sorry, it was so… short. Were you still satisfied?”  
“Aye. You’re the first man to apologise afterwards,” she mocked playfully, masking up her inner demons once again.  
“Sorry,” he joked. Red noticed the change in her, but he said nothing. She was a complex woman, with many different shades to her personality. He could tell that she had built a tough persona around her true-self. Red wondered who had broken Roza’s heart to make her so untrusting and so reluctant to fall in love again. He went to sleep dreaming of the ways he would confront the person who had torn apart her heart and soul.  
Roza did not fall asleep. Instead she thought of Vay’len. Why that damn elf, she didn’t know, especially after such a tender act with Red. Yet, she found a few shreds of clarity, just for a brief moment…  
“You and I are more similar than I thought,” she murmured to herself, remembering Victor’s long reprimand earlier that day, “We both carry the burdens of our families’ legacy…”  
Despite it all, Roza quietly climbed out of her bed, found some casual clothes to wear from her wardrobe and left her room. She went out into Raydon city to see what debauchery the night had to offer – food, drink, violence, sex and death, she welcomed it all. She needed the distraction, from her biggest enemy. Her own mind.

Chapter Ten  
Confessions

Roza stayed out all night, opting to sleep against the large fountain in the centre of the trade district. When she awoke, her jaw felt tender and bruised, her back was dry and itching where her burns slowly healed. Her memories were hazy, swimming in her alcohol addled mind. She had started a barroom brawl, but she couldn’t remember why, only that it had resulted in her being picked up and thrown head first into a table.  
“Must have been a very big guy to do that…” she murmured to herself, rubbing her sore jaw.  
Shops began to open up, and Roza went in search of a pharmacy that would sell her some kind of contraceptive solution. She liked Red, but she wasn’t quite ready to start a family with him.  
“Captain?” a voice drawled from the opening of the alleyway where Roza was hurling up her guts. A mixture of liquor and the solution working its magic had induced a sudden wave of nausea through her body.  
Celeste Alberona stood there, blocking the light from the morning sun, one hand on her hip and a grimace on her lovely face. “You’re sick,” she stated.  
“I’m fine,” Roza grunted, wiping sweat from her face.  
“Chocolate is hardly the best remedy, but I do have spare rooms if you should wish to sleep it off?” she offered.  
“Right,” Roza blinked, calculating the offer – such a curiously kind offer, “Shit. I’m meant to be training my guards this morning.”  
“In your condition?” Celeste questioned, offering her hand to the guard captain. “Come. Rest for a while.”  
“You’re not going to take no for an answer, are ya?”  
“I never do,” the chocolatier replied haughtily. She led Roza out of the alleyway and across the road to Heaven’s Treat. “Your uncle really came through with the new sign.”  
Roza looked up at the newly fixed sign, her eyesight still a bit blurry. Hunter’s metalwork was delicate yet bold, the lettering looked incredible. “That was quick,” she observed.  
Once inside the chocolate shop, Celeste helped Roza up a flight of stairs and into one of her spare bedrooms. The room was so nice, filled with expensive furniture and fabrics, decorated with flowers and ceramic painted plates. Roza really didn’t want to ruin the room with her vomit.  
“Did you take one of Vichi’s concoctions?” Celeste asked straight away.  
“I don’t know, it was the first pharmacy I found,” Roza said, with a slight hiccup.  
“They’re really awful, and they hardly ever work,” she warned, snapping the curtains shut to make the room even cosier. “Next time, come to me, I have something much more refined.”  
“Chocolate contraception?” Roza asked playfully.  
“No, darling, I don’t make the stuff. But actually, that might not be a bad idea… I wonder if I could make the pills chocolate flavoured,” Celeste mused.  
Roza rolled onto the double bed, shutting her tired eyes, “We can be business partners, if ya like?”  
Celeste chortled pleasantly, “I think you already have enough on your plate, darling.”  
“Celeste?” she croaked wearily, “Thank you.”  
“Anytime, honey,” she said from the doorway, delicately shutting the bedroom door behind her.

***

After a few precious hours of sleep, Roza returned to the guard tower to round up her men and women for training. “Sorry I’m late,” she announced, rolling up her sleeves, “And I don’t just mean about this morning. I was due over a week ago, and you’ve all been left leaderless.”  
Red rushed out into the damp training courtyard, slack-jawed as he set eyes on Roza’s untimely reappearance.  
She winked at him, noticing the worry on his face, yet she carried on with her training. “This country has grown too reliant on guns,” she said loudly, pointing to a wrack of practice swords, “Slow, fumbling rifles and pistols.”  
Most of her guards looked enthusiastic and excited to learn from a skilled swordswoman. A few appeared to be too lazy to give up their guns however.  
“A sword is more reliable, it has more longevity than any weapon that requires ammunition. That’s why you don’t see Gardozian Knights running into battle with bows and arrows, aye? Let’s start with some stretches to warm up.”  
After a brief moment of hesitation, Red joined in with the rest of the group, copying the captain’s warm up routine. She finished it off with fifty press ups before acquiring a practice sword of her own.  
Red, and a lot of the other unfit guards were already exhausted.  
“Line up, I want to duel you all in turn. I can learn from each and every one of you that way,” Roza ordered.  
There were a few bewildered glances and whispers. Almost forty of them, of all ages and varying backgrounds, began to line up and take it in turns to attempt a duel with their captain.  
Not a single one of them landed a hit on Roza. Most of them she disarmed within a matter of seconds as they were so unaccustomed to a sword, that they didn’t even know how to hold it properly. She gave almost all of her guards a second chance, to learn more about them, until the sun began to hang low in the sky.  
Roza showed no signs of exhaustion or the signs of her returning nausea.  
Red was near the back of the line, and when it finally came to his turn, he felt as though he had learnt quite a bit from watching and listening to all of the duels that day.  
“Remember: the sword is an extension of your arm,” she advised, as Red stepped up to the ring.  
He wasn’t quite sure what she meant in those words, but he made sure he was griping the handle of his sword correctly; not too rigid, but not too loose. Feet spread apart, shoulders back.  
“Ready?” Roza checked.  
Red nodded.  
“Hit me,” she encouraged, lazily holding up the practice sword across her body.  
Red made for a sideways sweep, hoping to tap her elbow with his weapon.  
Roza moved like a dancer, bouncing from one foot to the other to dodge his attack and thrust her sword tip beneath his chin.  
“Be quicker,” Roza ordered, lowering her blunt blade. “Try again.”  
Red tried to feign an attack on Roza’s left elbow again, before throwing himself forwards, aiming to get his blade under her chin in return.  
Roza lazily slapped his sword away. But he held onto it firmly, even as the vibrations rattled the bones in his arms, he raised the sword up for another strike. Roza smashed it away again. Red hopped back on one foot, their swords clashing for a third time. His eyes locked with hers.  
Roza grinned wickedly, before spinning her sword around his, twisting the thing in his hand. He had to let go, else his wrist was going to twist around and snap with it.  
“Again,” she said, allowing him time to catch his breath and pick his practice sword back up.  
“You’re too good,” he said with disbelief.  
Roza held that nonchalant stance of hers again, “Thanks,” she continued to grin, “You defend this time.”  
Red held his weapon up in front of him, waiting for her attack. She took a few steps backwards, surprisingly delicate on her feet, she glanced her opponent up and down, judging his weak spot in less than a second. Roza brandished her practice sword, whipping it across Red’s chest. He blocked it, no surprise there, Roza thought as sparks flew into the air. She smashed her sword against his again and Red buckled slightly, taking a few steps backwards.  
Roza slid up against his side, prancing around him, their swords locking together as she extended her leg behind him. As Red stepped back again, he tripped over her leg.  
“Wah,” Red gasped as he fell, but the captain wrapped her hand around his wrist and pulled him back up before he could hit the dirt. At some point, she had disarmed him without him realising and she held two swords in one hand, and let go of his wrist with her other.  
“Be wary of every inch of your body,” Roza advised, “A good opponent will always manipulate your movements to win. Remember to stand your ground.”  
She moved onto the last few guards, defeating them with ease before dismissing the session.  
Red stayed behind and helped Roza drag the weapon wrack of practice swords back inside the barracks. He couldn’t believe how much she knew when it came to sword fighting. She was truly an expert.  
“What happened to your face?” he puzzled once they had set down the wrack in the weaponry room.  
“I don’t really remember,” Roza lied. A half lie.  
“I woke up and you were gone…” he said pitifully.  
She pursed her lips together for a moment, looking around at the vast array of dusty weapons inside the room. She shrugged and made for the exit.  
“Roza? What did I do wrong?” he called behind her desperately.  
Roza ignored him, breaking into a run to get away. He’s too kind to get wrapped up in my darkness, she told herself as she ran from the barracks and back into the business of the city. The chaos of Raydon was her own form of serenity.  
Shops began to close up, but more and more taverns, bars and brothels began to open their doors and stoke their fires.  
Roza took shelter from the sudden down pour of rain inside the first brothel she found. She quickly drank herself into oblivion and pressed her lips firmly against the first man who took interest in her.  
She never caught the man’s name, but he must have thought her to be one of the working girls there, as he left her a pile of coins on the bedside table.  
This of course displeased the owner of the brothel. An older woman, wearing thick layers of makeup sent one of her hired goons to drag Roza from the florally decorated room.  
“Play nice,” she slurred as the bodyguard hauled her onto the balcony landing.  
The brothel owner took a look at Roza’s fine swords and frowned, “You’re a wealthy lass. What reasons do you have to be here?”  
“I have urges too, this is a brothel, aye?” Roza said wildly, slapping the gold she had just earned into the hand of the painted-up woman. “I want a woman this time. Preferably one with black hair?”  
“This – this,” the owner stuttered with shock and confusion.  
Roza turned out one of her pockets, “You want more money?”  
The bodyguard let go of the back of Roza’s coat and shrugged.  
“Very well,” the owner said, “But I can’t allow you to take your weapons into the room with my girl.”  
“Vvvveh,” Roza swayed and glared angrily, “No deal, lady.” She almost threw herself down the stairs, swiping a bottle of strong liquor from the bar area, reasoning that she should at least receive something of worth for all that gold she had just spent, before she showed herself to the door.  
She found herself an alleyway to collapse in and nurse her bottle of alcohol. She drank until her mind could forget and her body went numb, and she could pretend for at least a few hours that she wasn’t worthless. She could drop the façade and just be, instead of pretending to be something that she wasn’t. Someone that she could never be. Something that her father had already tried to make her into.  
“Well, well, well, what do we have ‘ere?” said a man, meeting Roza in the alley as if he had just won a large jackpot.  
She took a swig from her bottle and readjusted her leather coat so that the stranger could see the long sword on her belt.  
“Do you know how to use that, precious?” he asked with a lopsided grin.  
“Bring me another bottle and you can find out,” she countered sharply.  
“Oh, you’re a feisty precious one,” he said gleefully, sidling over to block Roza from getting up from where she was slumped. “Is your bark as bad as your bite?”  
She slammed her elbow into the man’s knee.  
He seethed in pain, squatting down to wrap his hand around her throat.  
Roza grinned, and began to cackle, smashing her fist into the side of the man’s head. He recoiled slightly, before throwing her further down into the alleyway. “You do have some bite,” he growled before lunging at her.  
Roza raised her leg, landing a well timed kick to the man’s jaw. His teeth clacked together and he howled in pain and rage. “Well, this ain’t worth it,” he glowered.  
She splashed around in a puddle, watching the stranger turn away. “Wait, I thought we were havin’ fun,” she laughed.  
A few seconds later, the sound of hurried footsteps splashed down the alleyway to greet her.  
Roza crawled towards her almost empty bottle of liquor as Vay’len now towered over her. “Are you all right?” he checked, offering a hand to help her up.  
“Wha – what? What are you doing here?” she asked, having to pinch herself, “I must be dreamin’.”  
“I got caught up all day,” he excused, a mild look of bewilderment in his sky-blue eyes. “I didn’t have a chance to change your bandages until now, but Mr Zainadir said that you had taken flight after training today.”  
“I wish I could fly, Vay,” she mused.  
“I do too… but that’s not the point,” he said, fairly distracted. “What are you doing out here in this rain?”  
“I – I don’t know,” she said with complete honesty.  
He sniffed the liquor on her breath and frowned slightly.  
Gods, how his hair glows in the moonlight, Roza thought, trying hard not to swoon. There was something other-worldly about the elf, his features impossibly sculpted and perfect, his eyes smouldering.  
“Silverstone isn’t too far from here, you can get dried off,” Vay’len advised. He walked briskly and rigidly, Roza almost struggled to keep up with him.  
He didn’t stop until he passed through the front doors of the university and into an old fashioned looking dining area. He flicked his wrist and the fireplace burst into life.  
“That was clever,” Roza admired.  
Vay’len glanced around the room as if he was searching for something, his eyes losing focus for a second.  
“I didn’t realise how soaked I was,” she admitted with a shiver.  
He turned back to her, “Here, let me try something,” he said with his hand outstretched towards her chest.  
“Please don’t accidentally turn me into a frog,” she joked.  
“A frog? I can think of much more worse things,” he said with a small wry smile.  
Roza felt the water wicking away from her clothes, her skin and her hair, the moisture evaporating up into the air, steaming off her until she was toasty and dry again. “Thanks. So, did you have any luck finding Jamie?”  
Vay’len turned his enchantment onto himself to dry his damp hair and vibrant robe. “Hmm?” he seemed distracted again, “Oh, only a vague whereabouts. Might take me another day or two.”  
“We seem to always bump into each other,” she pointed out, sitting cross-legged in front of the crackling fireplace.  
Vay’len joined her, warming his long, slender hands. “Well, it is easier for me to find someone I’ve already met before.”  
He said it so bluntly, Roza couldn’t tell if he was serious or if it was just his dry sense of humour. “You tracked me down with a spell?” she asked.  
“I like to call it intuition, rather than magic,” he said, “How are your wounds?”  
“Unbearably itchy.”  
“Is that why you were drinking so heavily?” he wondered, fairly innocently.  
“No,” Roza uttered, “I’ve always been this way.” She shrugged her coat off as Vay’len began to dig deep into his bag for bandages.  
“The ointment should help. Again, I’m sorry I didn’t find you earlier.”  
“Where were you?” she asked brashly.  
“I was meeting with a contact,” he replied slowly.  
Roza span around on the floor and began to unbutton her shirt, “Alders?” she chuckled.  
“No, not Alders,” Vay’len uttered quietly.  
They both unwrapped her bandages together, “Was it a girl?” she pried.  
“Does it matter?” he sighed.  
She felt his breath pour down her neck. Roza laughed mischievously, “I guess so?”  
He smeared a thick layer of healing salve onto her unsightly back before stating his observation aloud, “You have a very interesting defence technique.”  
“You somehow been watching my training session as well as meeting girls?”  
“You’re doing it right now,” he stated further, “You deflect every emotion and every situation so you don’t have to admit how you’re really feeling, deep inside.”  
Roza turned her head to frown at him as he prepared the bandages. “I have to,” she said bitterly.  
“Except for when we met with Celeste and you called me awful,” he mused, “I saw a real piece of you that day.”  
She got up from the floor, holding her shirt to her exposed breasts. “What does it matter to you?”  
Vay’len gazed up at her steadily – he looked like a stag gently raising his elegant horns – “It matters a great deal to me.”  
“Why?”  
“Who did you lose? There was someone important to you. You said that you couldn’t save him,” he went on, still watching her steadily.  
“Did I?” she forced a grin, she choked on a cry, her heart threatening to rupture, “Heh, did I say that to you?”  
“Yes,” he said and waited patiently, bandages ready.  
“It doesn’t matter, it is in the past now, nothing can be changed,” she said brutally, clenching her teeth together.  
“Evidently, it does matter. If you’re not in a fit enough condition for your position, then all of this work, it will have been for naught.”  
He was right. He was right, the damn elf, she couldn’t keep pretending that she was coping. “I lost my fiancé,” she admitted, her knees buckling, she reached for the mantelpiece above the fire to steady herself. “And I – I miscarried.”  
Vay’len felt instantly sick. He looked at her, how young she still was and how much misfortune she had already suffered. How the future she had pictured for herself had been snatched away.  
“He was shot in the head, the chest, the abdomen,” she uttered, breathlessly, feeling dizzy, sick, light-headed, reliving it all. “Still don’t know why. He was – Joe was a doctor, he delivered babies. He was working, but he never came back. There was no honour in it – no honour or skill in a thief just pulling a trigger.”  
She didn’t see Vay’len jump up from the floor, or register him removing his long robe to drape it around her like a warm blanket. The material was so soft. He held onto her arms, pressing the fabric around her, embracing her without putting pressure on her physical wounds.  
“I’m sorry,” he uttered softly, again and again, “I’m sorry, Roza. Goheno, nye goheno.”  
Was it pity? Or kindness? Either way, Roza wasn’t used to such gentle words and interactions, not since she had lost her best friend, her only love. 

Chapter Eleven  
Night Forged

After tending to Roza’s wounds in respectful silence, Vay’len packed the bandages and the bottle of healing salve into his bag, and picked up Roza’s coat from the grey brick floor.  
She studied him in his clean, plain clothes, his pale grey shirt and navy trousers were clearly of elven design. They fit his long, sleek body well, and there was beauty in the simplicity of his attire.  
“May I?” he held his hand out to retrieve his robe back.  
Roza had to stop herself from gawping at him – it wasn’t the first time she had caught herself doing it either. She smiled slightly, swapping his glimmering robe for her flame-damaged leather coat.  
A shrill scream came from outside and both of them ran towards the tall windows to inspect the origin of the cries and the build up of multiple shouts. Roza only saw darkness and rain through the dining room window. But Vay’len saw much more with his sharp elven eyes.  
“Sounds like someone is being murdered,” Roza cried as she turned on her heel to leave the room and get outside to help as soon as possible.  
She wasn’t wrong, as all Vay’len had seen was blood and gore, a severed head rolling across a neatly groomed garden.  
Chaos in the rain. Blood and battle, shrieks of terror and death, that Roza could spin, whirl and dance to. But there was nothing human about the way the attackers moved. They were too fast, too strong. Roza watched one of the foul things collide into its prey, ripping the man open with its bare hands.  
She rushed forwards, unleashing her long blade from its sheath, slicing the attacker across the back. At first she thought that it was a Moriquen – a dark elf attack. She didn’t have time to figure out what the creatures were as one of them hissed behind her.  
She pivoted on the spot, slicing limb from limb, before she could be made into a meal. Behind her, someone grabbed her shoulder and slammed her to the ground. She was looking up at a smooth faced man, his eyes glowing red, blood trickling down his back. The man she had sliced across the back, surely severed his spine? Nothing mortal could have survived that…  
He hissed down at her, baring long, blood coated fangs. Roza raised her sword, attempted to flip back up onto her feet, but the creature pushed her back down again. So firmly, that her right shoulder dislocated and she roared in rage and pain.  
The creature smiled over her, hungrily, sensing the fight in her. She could tell that she was the prey and that the hunter wanted to play with her for a while. But he didn’t get a chance to, as a bolt punctured through his chest and he hit the wet grass, remaining still and unmoving this time.  
“Roza!” a man cried, rushing across the grass to check on her.  
She pulled herself up in time, cradling her loose arm to watch Red get piled into by one of the bloodsucking attackers.  
“Red,” she screamed, getting up, charging over, ignoring the woozy sensation. The pounding inside her head. The stars in front of her eyes. She was in complete shock.  
From the loose stone pathway up to the university doors, Vay’len clapped his hands together and then slowly dragged his palms apart, summoning a glowing ball of light between his hands. It grew bigger and brighter, and the wizard cast it up into the air until the whole garden was illuminated.  
The attackers recoiled from the light, and some began to flee into the darkness of the city without looking back. Vay’len hurried after the creatures, closely followed by Seth, who was quickly reloading his powerful crossbow.  
Roza chased down the attacker that had pinned Red down. It cringed at the floating orb of light and she wasted no time in drawing her shorter blade from its sheath as she ran, decapitating the relentless creature with one elegant stroke.  
“Michael,” she put her sword away and collapsed down next to him, holding pressure down on the bite marks on his neck. Desperately attempting to stop the blood gushing out from his main artery. “Michael?”  
He blinked rapidly up at her, sheer terror in his eyes as blood leaked into his mouth and he began to splutter and choke.  
Roza covered her body over his, holding him until his heart stopped. “Gardoz, take this noble and kind soul, treat him well,” she prayed quietly.  
She couldn’t tell how much time had gone by, as she lay down next to Red, one arm around him, the other limp and useless, as she asked herself why. Why him?  
He wouldn’t have been out here, looking for you, if you hadn’t ran away from him, taunted a dark voice inside her head. The shame and the guilt, she could barely bear it anymore.  
“It would be a kindness if you cut his head off now,” Seth said, standing over the both of them, hooking his crossbow over his shoulder.  
“What?” she murmured.  
“You interrupted that vampires’ meal,” he gestured to Red with the tip of his boot, “This one is about to get back up.”  
Almost just as Seth said it, a rattling sound drew from Red’s throat, and his nails began to dig into the soil around him.  
Seth unsheathed a long knife from his belt, “There’s already enough of these bloodsuckers running around.”  
“No,” Roza barked, still holding Red close. “He’s not like them. He’s a good man.”  
“Even so, he’s a hunter of the night now with an uncontrollable thirst. If you won’t end him, I will,” Seth said pragmatically.  
“No,” she yelled again, getting up on her feet, refusing to believe the monster hunter. She shoved Seth away with her healthy arm, whilst her dislocated one swayed at her side. “He’s my… he’s my assistant. I get to choose!”  
Seth scoffed, “You really are insane.”  
Roza reached for the hilt of her short sword, but didn’t unleash the sharp length of metal onto Seth – not yet. “You have no idea what I truly am,” she growled menacingly.  
To his credit, he backed up a step. He knew she was a born and bred Kiezar, descendent of a long line of Gardozian Knights that had been defending its empire from monsters and supernatural threats for thousands of years. Seth was wise enough to not get caught between her and her blades.  
Roza lowered her itching fingers away from her weapon and turned back to Red, watching him scrabble onto his feet and cover his eyes from the bright orb of light that Vay’len had left hanging in front of the university.  
“Why is it so bright?” he winced, “Roza? What happened to your arm?”  
“It’s dislocated,” Seth pointed out, “Let me help you.”  
The shock and rage that had numbed Roza for a few minutes began to melt away, leaving her with excruciatingly beautiful pain. It wasn’t the first time she had dislocated a shoulder, but she had forgotten just how immensely painful it had been.  
She turned back to Seth, letting him raise her limp arm up and carefully pop it back into the socket of her shoulder. Roza grit her teeth through the agony, but by the end of it she could turn her wrist and move her fingers again.  
Red had never seen anything quite so grotesque – fortunately he couldn’t remember nearly having his throat ripped out – he doubled over and vomited onto the grass, the ethereal light still near blinding him.  
“We need to see if Vay’len needs our help,” Roza said, massaging her sore shoulder.  
Seth gazed off into the distance of Raydon city for a moment, as if he truly believed that the new captain was insane. “Right,” he murmured, loading up his crossbow and keeping a close watch on the newly made vampire.

Chapter Twelve  
Foreknown Guardian 

Roza clung to the sink basin in her room, splashing cold water onto her face with one hand. She was still adjusting to what had happened only an hour ago, the things she had witnessed, the unexplainable murders. And Red…  
After finding out that he had been killed and brought back again as something horrific and dangerous, the young man had done nothing but weep and demand that Roza lock him in her office to, ‘keep everyone safe from me.’  
I’m completely out of my depth, Roza thought, glancing at her reflection in the blacked out window.  
Vay’len had tried to capture one of the night hunters alive, but they had all either escaped or one of Seth’s bolts had found them. The monster hunter had set alight their unmoving bodies with a match and some oil, collecting the dust that was left behind. He didn’t offer any explanations to why he performed such an odd ritual.  
“I’ve made a sling for your arm,” Vay’len said, standing on the threshold of the captain’s room, waiting for an invitation.  
Roza patted a towel against her icy face. She had definitely sobered up in the last hour, as much as she wished that everything that had happened was just a hazy dream. “Have you spoken to Michael?” she asked.  
“Briefly. He was adamant about me opening the door,” the elf replied gravely.  
“Can you do anything for him?”  
“Besides supplying him with enough animal blood to sustain his cravings, there is no way to reverse his condition. He is dead, yet still living. A cruel fate, I wouldn’t want to wish on anyone,” Vay’len said, still sombre as he approached Roza with the linen sling. He guided her arm into the fabric and carefully reached behind her neck to tie the ends up.  
“I suppose you weren’t expecting to get so much medical training out of me,” she said behind a fake grin.  
“I did, actually, and you didn’t disappoint. Your reputation spreads far,” he pointed out.  
“Aye, I guess I never learnt how to relax.”  
“You’re just always on the edge, ready for the next danger,” Vay’len could relate. “I’m starting to think that someone is sending thralls of agaryulnaerea after me.”  
“Bless you,” Roza teased.  
“Bloodsuckers,” he translated the elvish absentmindedly. “You shouldn’t blame yourself for Zainadir’s fate. It’s my fault that these attacks keep happening. They started in the Pelago Forest, a second time when I was travelling the road to Jinzo, and then tonight. I didn’t expect them to have the audacity to attack inside the city, especially so close to the university.”  
“You’ve been attacked by vampires before? You didn’t think to mention this earlier?” she accused, sitting down on the edge of her bed.  
“It never came up in conversation,” he said with a small amount of embarrassment, folding his hands behind his back, “I’m a Nailir. It’s only a matter of time until they send a Moriquen sereg’wethrin after me. These agaryulnaerea are nothing but scouts.”  
Roza’s head was spinning, and the elf might as well have been speaking in incoherent shrieks, and not mystical elvish. “Sere-what-now?” she puzzled.  
Vay’len rolled his eyes, “An assassin,” he translated again, and began to pace up and down uneasily. “I had two options – stay in Syl’radin city and wait for the Moriquen to eventually return to Ayrev and tear the country apart looking for me. Or I take the fight to them, learning as much as I can before time runs out.”  
“That’s why you’re always meeting with Alders, doing your researching,” she figured.  
He nodded as he walked up and down, “Besides, I’ve become quite fond of this city and the people here.”  
“Did you… nah, that would be silly,” Roza began, having a thought spring to mind, but only letting it half roll off her wry tongue.  
Vay’len stopped abruptly and glanced down at her, “Did I what?”  
“Well, it was kind of random and out of the blue when I received the letter from King Hollington proposing that I travel here and take charge as Guard Captain,” she continued her thought, rising her unrestrained hand to tap her finger against her bottom lip. “Is there any chance that you know the King? That you asked for me?”  
“Are you suggesting that I orchestrated your arrival?” he asked, his cheekbones flaring with pinkness. “It’s possible that I have a bit of influence at the royal court, but…”  
“You’re a terrible liar, Vay,” she began to chuckle, despite her hardships, worries and aching shoulder. “Was I part of your research? You want to learn how to master the ways of the blade?”  
“I’m already adequate with a blade,” he said proudly.  
Roza scoffed, looking him up and down, “You’re all skin and bone.”  
“Surely, you should know, not to underestimate your targets,” he mocked playfully, his smile was innocent, wide-eyed, yet cunning.  
He was becoming quite the enigma to Roza, as if Vay’len was masquerading as a wise wizard, cool and collective, but really he was just as immature as her. “Tell me, why did you want me here, then?”  
“I need a bodyguard, an extra pair of eyes. I needed someone who was street-smart and clued up about the world. I’ve been a shut-in for a century, there is a lot of things I understand in theory, but in practicality… I’m in dire need of help,” he admitted.  
And Roza was surprised that he wasn’t too proud to confess his flaws. “That must have been against your nature to admit that, Eladrin,” she teased.  
“There isn’t enough room in here for two gigantic egomaniacs, Firya,” he countered with a grin.  
“What did you just call me?” she jumped up, lunging closer to confront him.  
“An egomaniac?”  
She stared at him menacingly, “No, the elvish word, Firya?”  
“It means Human,” Vay’len replied, slightly anxious.  
Roza pounced with her unslung arm, tickling his neck and down to his under arm. “That’s enough elvish for one night,” she ordered, grinning wickedly.  
The last thing he had expected was for her to attack him with tickles, and Vay’len yelped, “Okay – okay, I’ll stop! If you stop, ah!”  
Roza withdrew, laughing through her pain. Sometimes the only way that she had been able to make it through her darkest days was by joking and playing around. To find the amusing side, in all situations, her father had taught her.  
“Avá virnë, Rozaline,” Vay’len uttered, unable to keep a straight face.  
“That’s it,” she pounced on him again, tickling him mercilessly until he crumpled to the floor, undignified and howling.  
After a prolonged amount of tickle torture, Roza released her weeping victim.  
Vay’len crawled away, wheezing with laughter, taking his chance to escape whist he still could. Leaving the room slightly more light-hearted than when he had entered, reaffirming what he had said to her in elvish; Never change, Rozaline. 

***

Inside the upper levels of the Silverstone University, Lorne Hölzer put black ink to fancy paper, meticulously forging somebody else’s script. He wasn’t as quick, strong or violent as he used to be in his younger years. He certainly wouldn’t have survived against the attack on the doorstep of the university, Hayley wouldn’t have either, he mused.  
Lorne’s guest arrived, a tang of blood, smoke and rosewood clinging to the hunter. It wasn’t unusual for Seth to be summoned at such a late hour.  
“Got a job for me?” he got straight to the point. He always did.  
“Not quite,” Lorne said, looking up from his forgery, “You pulled Hayley out of danger, you saved her life tonight.”  
“Of course,” Seth frowned, moving towards the windowsill to take his usual seat.  
“I’m certain I know a way to repay you,” he said sincerely.  
“If you’re doing what I think you’re doing,” Seth continued to frown, uneasy and suspicious. He tucked up his muscular legs onto the sill, resting one arm over his knees. He’d left his crossbow at the door as was the accustomed formality, “I don’t want anyone to get hurt. Especially not her.”  
“I want to see you happy, my friend,” Lorne said, warming up a green stick of wax to finish off his fake letter.  
Seth’s frown turned to something akin to horror. Lorne had never seen the brutal hunter – the Raven thug look so terrified. “What if I’m not ready to see her?”  
“Or she see you,” Lorne pointed out, “Not to worry, the royal court is throwing a masquerade ball. I’m making sure that we are on the guest list, my friend. Lady Eshra wouldn’t miss such an event, surely?”  
Seth turned paler than usual, “I’m barely even halfway towards my goal.”  
“I thought business was going well for you, lately?” Lorne inquired.  
“Not as well as I thought. They keep cutting the price,” he grumbled.  
“Would you like me to ask around here? I’m sure the alchemists will have use for your stock,” he offered.  
“Tricky. I don’t want to drag your good favour through the dirt, if people start asking questions.”  
Lorne scratched the long scar on his chin and shrugged, “Leave that to me to worry about.”  
Seth sighed, but it sounded more like a pained growl. “There isn’t much point to this anyway, I’m still stuck as a Raven, try as I might to leave. I’ll never be able to give Carrie a stable life.”  
Lorne tapped his nails against his desk before pouring out another finger of brandy from a fancy bottle. “Start giving Rozaline Kiezar some targets. Gardozians are uniquely excellent at single handily wiping out shady organisations.”  
“I would have done already, but I’ve been waiting for her burns to heal. And now she has busted up her arm,” Seth pointed out, dragging his nails through his dark hair. “I don’t want to be the reason for her death. I don’t want the whole empire after me for that.”  
The mapmaker drank his brandy down and raised a narrow eyebrow, “She has been trained to fight a lot worse than thieves and thugs.”  
“I know,” he grunted.  
“Listen to me, Seth Rannen,” Lorne said deeply, “I ignored my heart for a whole decade. Was I happy? No. Did I regret it? Every waking moment. I was just as miserable and lost as you are now. I lost Clara. There is no way in hell that I’m going to let you lose Carrie.”  
“Was Clara your wife?” Seth asked solemnly. He had learnt fragments and shreds about Lorne over the past two years of knowing and working for him. He’d never learnt the name of the only woman he’d ever loved, but he had heard stories about her from Hayley. She’d been a deadly assassin, part of the legendary Frost Fang clan and she had faced Ananette without fear. Clara Hölzer…  
Lorne bit his lip and nodded slowly.  
“Alright,” Seth nodded as well, burying his worry deep. “No more time wasting.” 

Chapter Thirteen  
Composure

She’d broken her fingers again.  
He was a man of empathy. He’d been raised to care for others, whereas she had been taught to fight and kill.  
She always remembered Joseph as an adolescent. Around fifteen or sixteen years old they had both been, when Roza had begun to realise his beauty and physique. She tossed and turned in her bed, haunted by her dreams. All the memories that she couldn’t escape…  
“What’s your earliest memory?” she asked, sitting in the waiting area of his father’s practise. Her middle and ring finger twisted horribly after getting into a fight with a boy on the playground. The bully had targeted Lillian for her unique wardrobe choice. Rozaline’s fists just so happened to have connected with his face.  
“I don’t know,” Joseph shrugged meekly, thinking for a moment, “Eating my mother’s honeybread.”  
“I was born at sea, but I barely remember it,” Roza described. Talking took her mind off her pain. Her pain was just as natural as breathing. “I remember starting my training in Claynore. Papa told me to cut down five trees with just an axe. He wouldn’t let me become a Gardozian if I failed.”  
“How old were you?”  
“Seven, perhaps eight? It took me a week, my hands were raw and bloody by the end of it,” she said, “It was an important lesson. I’d be swinging a sword a lot more often than an axe, I had to get used to that.”  
Joe sat with her in silence for a bit, staring down at his own unmarked hands. Roza suspected that he was trying to figure out how she had acquired every bruise, cut, scrape and break – she always came to school with a new wound. Yet she was always strong and never fearful. She respected her father, spoke about Theo Kiezar with pride. She loved her family, as far as Joe could tell. Unless she had been conditioned into her way of life?  
“And when you get home? Will you still be training, even with broken fingers?” he asked slowly.  
Roza laughed as if he was joking, “Ha! I train everyday. Today will just be an excuse to practice with my other sword arm, aye?”  
Roza woke up, thankfully before she could replay the ordeal of his murder. She sat up against her headboard, pulling her knees up against her chest, taking a few minutes to figure out where she was and what she needed to do. Her shoulder was still sore, but she could manage. Michael.  
He was still locked up in her office, but he’d have to come out eventually.  
Roza sprung out of bed, freshened up at the sink, dressed in her casual clothes and left the guard tower, in search of a butchers shop. Nothing suspicious about asking to buy animal blood, surely? Roza smirked inwardly. Perhaps a cut of something raw and bloody would suffice.  
She returned to the tower half an hour later, carrying a pack-bag of ethical vampire food. Knocking on the office door before drawing the key to it from her pocket, “Michael?” Roza called.  
“Roza? Are you all right?” he wondered from the other side of the door.  
“Aye. Can I come in?”  
“Okay,” Red called back.  
She braced herself slightly, scared to see the state he would be in. Roza turned the key in the lock, getting ready to block with her sword in case he pounced on her with bloodlust.  
She entered the office cautiously, to find Red standing beside her desk, absentmindedly reading a small stack of reports. He looked up and smiled, “Morning.”  
“You’re oddly… composed,” she uttered suspiciously. He was no longer in tears, neither was he distraught. He looked fresh, his skin smooth and glowing, his eyes alert and bright.  
“I’ve been awake all night. And I mean really awake,” Red explained, calm and accepting of his fate. “The wound on my neck healed, it’s completely gone.”  
He showed her, lowering his shirt collar. “How’s your arm?” he inquired.  
“Fine,” she said with a confused frown. “I brought you some food.”  
“Oh, thank you,” he said appreciatively. “I did a lot of work in the night, there isn’t much left to organise. I’m worried if I go outside, do you think I’ll catch fire?”  
Roza shook her head and handed him the bag of meat and flasks of blood, “No. Luckily Ayrev is a cloudy place… which would explain the attacks here,” she realised as she said it. “I’m sorry for what happened to you, Michael.”  
“No, no, I should have given you your space and a little more privacy,” he said regretfully. “Anyway, I rather it happened to me than anyone else.”  
Her forensic analyst peered around the doorframe and spoke softly, “Captain? Is the door meant to be open?”  
Roza was almost startled, she hadn’t heard the elf walk through the corridor outside, or notice him push the door open a bit wider. “Hey, Vay,” she greeted, turning and glancing up at him, where he was looming in the doorway like an extremely tall peacock. “I brought Michael some animal blood, like you suggested.”  
Vay’len smiled and nodded, but Roza still thought that he looked sad. His eyes were full of sorrow, but she could only guess it was because he felt sorry for Red. “I found a book for you to read, Mr Zainadir,” he said, reaching into his satchel.  
“A book about vampires?” he guessed.  
“Yes, the Silverstone library only has a few on the subject. You’d be better off finding solutions in Claynore.”  
“I would?” Red wondered, reaching out to take the book, “Why?”  
“The Empire has an established Alois following there and a bigger library at the Glade Spire. It’s said that High Priestess Sheri Curlain’s predecessor became a vampire by choice, or at least something similar. Alois followers have been trying to find a way to cheat death for centuries,” Vay’len explained thoroughly.  
“You seem to know a lot about our human gods,” Roza teased, smirking slightly.  
“I’ve read a lot of books,” he said a matter-of-factly, cupping his hands together.  
“You think I should go all the way to Claynore for a solution? What kind of a solution?” Red asked doubtfully.  
Vay’len shifted from one foot to the other, “I’m saying that I suspect that there is a society of vampires that are living fairly normal lives and have found a way to control their cravings. They could help you and give you better advice than I ever could,” he replied.  
“It’s up to you,” Roza offered, “I could take you to Sheri if you like? My parents know her well.”  
Red blinked rapidly, overwhelmed by the offer, “That could take weeks and weeks of travel. Ayrev needs you here, Roza.”  
“I want you to be as stable as you can be. This job is already hard enough without my wonderful assistant,” she said passionately.  
“Thanks,” Red smiled bashfully, “I’m okay, though. I’ve consoled myself. It wasn’t as if I sunbathed very often anyway.”  
Roza snorted a laugh.  
“The other reason why I’m here,” Vay’len began, “Whilst I was at Silverstone this morning, Seth found me and gave me a list of names and locations. He thinks we can flush Jamie out and the Raven’s leader by targeting the inner network. Personally, I’m not keen on fixing things with murder, but I think that was what he was suggesting you do. You’re the captain, after all. Not I. They are criminals, after all, yes?”  
“Aye,” Roza said, giving him a piercing stare. Perhaps that’s why he looks so sad? He has been burdened with a list of targets – complete strangers – passing on the dirty work to me, she pondered, fingering her lower lip. She took the list from his delicate fingers, glancing at the names and decided, “I don’t know how nasty any of these people are; they might just be trapped as much as Seth is and looking to get a way out. I’ll do my best to arrest them and put them on trail. Corpses can’t give us useful information, aye?”  
Vay’len smiled with appreciation.  
“But if any of them try to pull a godsdamn gun on me, I doubt I’ll be feelin’ so merciful,” she said, folding up the list in her good hand and tucking it into her coat pocket.  
“That’s understandable,” the elf said coolly. 

Chapter Fourteen  
The Masquerade 

After giving her body a single day of rest, Roza started the next morning with training. She led her recruits on a sprinting circuit around the barracks and guard tower. It rained relentlessly, soaking the contemporary brickwork, turning the roads into rivers and drenching the captain and her guards to the bone.  
She returned to her office an hour later to dry off and enjoy a steaming cup of coffee.  
Red was sat at her desk, already half way through distributing the pile of banknotes in front of him into pay packages for the guard force.  
Vay’len arrived in time for the second round of coffee. He frowned and shook his head at Roza, dripping a puddle around her wooden chair. He jerked his wrist and the water evaporated away from her as before.  
“Do you mind? That was cooling me down,” she protested, feigning exasperation.  
“I’d hate to have to write to your home; Sorry Mr and Mrs Kiezar, your daughter dropped dead of pneumonia,” he countered playfully, yet still holding an air of haughtiness. He brandished a letter from within his vibrant robes and presented it to the captain.  
“What’s this? Did the list get longer?”  
“No, it is an invitation to the royal ball tonight. Albeit last minute, but I suspect a few of our named Ravens will be attending,” Vay’len informed, “Perhaps even Jamie Claylorne.”  
“Oh right, so I’ll just walk in and arrest them all, shall I?” Roza sat up in her seat, snapping open the green wax seal on the envelope.  
“It won’t be that easy, Captain. It’s a masked ball,” he replied.  
“They hold one of these every season,” Red pointed out absentmindedly, scribbling notes down on the ledger that lay open in his lap. “This will be the spring ball, a chance for nobility to mix with commoners, without judgement. King Varghese has been throwing them ever since he was crowned.”  
“I take it you went to the winter one, Vay?” Roza wondered, prying for the connections that the elf had made with the Ayrevian royalty.  
“I did. I’m reluctant to go to this one,” he murmured.  
“Why’s that?” she smirked, “Alders refuse to dance with you?”  
“Funny,” he raised a long eyebrow, “A mask doesn’t exactly cover the ears, I end up sticking out more than blending in.”  
“I’m sure I’ll find a way to draw the attention away from you,” Roza said, grinning mischievously. “I don’t have a damn thing to wear though.” 

***

Roza was quick to leave her office and search for the one person in Ayrev who could assist her in throwing a last minute masquerade costume together. Celeste Alberona.  
She headed through the soggy trade district, witnessing the elaborate water fountain overflowing and spilling across the busy plaza. It seemed as though everyone in the city was preparing for the ball tonight, buying last minute accessories for their outfits, beverages and chocolate.  
Celeste’s shop was crammed with people taking refuge from the rain and browsing gifts for friends and loved ones.  
Suppose the jewellers would have been busy too, Roza mused with a sigh, passing the burnt out wreck of the Quarette’s shop, charcoal tainted water seeping from its charred rubble.  
She had to push her way inside Heaven’s Treat, slicking back her wet hair and rubbing her icy hands together, the scent of chocolate instantly intoxicating her senses.  
A pretty woman with long dark lashes approached, holding up a tray of samples, “Would you like to try our new brandy liqueur, you will have never tasted anything quite like it?”  
Roza noted the woman’s uniform was tidy and coloured with red and gold, fitting in with the luxurious interior of the shop. “Aye, thanks,” the captain smiled, plucking a square shaped chocolate from the tray.  
“We have a whole collection of new chocolate liqueurs for you to indulge yourself on,” the sale’s woman informed cheerfully.  
“I got my inspiration from you,” Celeste said gleefully, parting through the crowd of customers elegantly.  
“I’m flattered,” Roza grinned, “I didn’t come here for chocolate though.”  
“Oh? Perhaps something a bit more personal?” the shop owner asked discreetly.  
Roza chuckled slightly, as she suspected Celeste was talking about contraceptives. “I take it you’re going to the ball tonight?”  
“I’m sure I’ll make an appearance, darling.”  
“What do I wear? Do I go in my uniform?” Roza asked, turning quite anxious.  
“Dear gods, no! It’s a masquerade, no one is meant to recognise you. You should be anonymous, otherwise the fun of it is spoilt,” Celeste said vitally.  
“Parties feel a lot more informal back home,” Roza said with a long sigh.  
Celeste sized the captain up, “We’re more or less the same height. Let me take you to my wardrobe, dear.”  
“I don’t want to trouble you. Your shop seems very busy,” Roza said. Just to emphasise her point, a young gentleman elbowed her side and she glared at him with frustration.  
“Sorry, sir – err – I mean miss,” he apologised awkwardly.  
Roza felt oddly self-conscious and trapped, surrounded by wealthy Ayrevians.  
“It’s no trouble at all,” Celeste smiled warmly, offering Roza her hand. She had eyes of pure ice, a tongue like lightning, yet Celeste also had a warm side, a sweeter side. 

***

It had been quite a while since Vay’len had entered the Hollington palace. He had good reason to stay away. He had promised to stay away.  
But he had work to do, strictly business, to catch a mage and avert any further fires. Time was running out, and he would use his intuition to find Jamie Claylorne tonight if he had to. Besides, she might not even be here tonight, Vay’len mused, looking up at the glass domed roof of the impossibly large ballroom. The repairs to the dome had been completed a few years prior, and had been installed with an array of ethereal lights. Even though the skies were wet and cloudy, the ballroom always had the appearance of a starry night above. He wondered what sort of magic made it so as he filed in to the palace with the rest of the partygoers, elvish, human, something old or something new? He didn’t notice the woman waiting for him, until she tapped his shoulder and they almost bumped masks.  
“You weren’t wrong, you do stick out,” Roza said, her vermillion lipstick-lined grin half covered by her silver coloured mask. It had two openings for her eyes and went down the left side of her face, embossed with blossoming roses. Celeste had ornately plaited her bright blond hair for her, and had woven small white roses into her crown.  
Vay’len didn’t recognise his captain for a moment. The silver and rose design extended to her attire as well. Her top half was sheer, exposing her tanned skin beneath, hiding the burns on her back well enough and her arms and more modest areas were covered by grey appliquéd lace roses. A slim silver belt hugged her waistline, giving way to a long pale grey skirt, with a deep slit to reveal one of her long golden legs. He probably would have seconded guessed that the woman in front of him really was Roza, if it wasn’t for the ritualistic swords hanging from her belt.  
“Even in a suit,” she added, pinching at his black lapels. Gone were his vibrant robes, replaced by the drab fashion of human nobility.  
He looked down deliberately at her bare feet, “Did you forget your shoes?” he mocked playfully in return.  
“I borrowed a pair of heels from Celeste. Except her feet are much daintier, so I decided to ditch the torture devices.”  
“Fair enough. You have no idea how hard it is to find black shoes that aren’t made out of leather,” he complained with distaste.  
“Have you seen how big the orchestra is? And the wine table,” she said with excitement.  
“We’re here to do work,” Vay’len reminded stiffly, leading her away from the busy flow of guests that spilled into the middle of the dance floor as a string quintet began to steadily hail the party with joyful melody.  
“Aye, I know. What do you need me to do?” Roza asked alertly, readjusting her mask.  
“Make friends, find out names, jobs, where they live, but don’t make it too obvious that you’re investigating. I’ll meet you in the middle of the dance floor in an hour to collect what we’ve uncovered,” he replied in a low voice, his expression hard to read beneath his black courtly mask. “And stay sober.”  
“You say that as if I have a drinking problem,” she grinned manically.  
“Because you do, Roza,” Vay’len frowned beneath his mask. 

Chapter Fifteen  
Eternally Forbidden 

Seth Rannen entered the light show of the Hollington palace, not quite knowing what to expect. He’d arrived slightly late and many of the masked guests were already partnered up and dancing to the grand orchestra.  
The royal hall was so large that the glittering glass domed roof above made Seth feel as like he was still outside. Typical, they would hold this function so close to the end of the month, he thought, scanning the crowds beneath his formal mask. He’d always had terrible eyesight, but made up for it with alert hearing and a keen sense of smell. He wasn’t entirely sure if that was just another symptom of his condition with no cure.  
Seth could smell the spring flowers and vines that decorated every wall, laced every table. He suspected that a lot of Hayley Hölzer’s flowers had been purchased for the nights’ festivities. Just by his scent alone, he could tell that the buffet tables held roasted pheasant, turkey, chicken, venison and boar; each animal had its own distinct aroma. He began to salivate, and it was easy to get distracted, even though he was far too nervous to eat.  
So much chatter and music invaded his ears as he began to circle the hall, attempting to recognise the masked guests by their scent alone – searching for Ravens that he could discreetly mark them for the captain. For any signs of Carrie…  
His nose led him towards a corner past the food and away from the orchestra where card games and gambling were mixed with alcohol and the subterfuge of disguises. A dangerous combination, but Seth presumed that much of the nobility and well-off merchants of Ayrev had plenty of wealth to waste. He was partly tempted to join a game, rob the table blind with the aid of his heightened senses. Senses that were being cruelly overwhelmed by the smell of chocolate.  
“You cleaned up well, for a thug,” the courtly woman said coldly. She wore black, the same as him, but the front of her dress almost didn’t exist. A deep v-shape was cut out of her dress, revealing much of her milk-white skin and barely leaving anything for the imagination. Her wrists and throat were adorned with black rhinestone bracelets and a thick choker, to match her glittering face mask. She allowed her caramel brown hair to fall down her back and frame her feminine face.  
Seth refrained from pinching his nose from the scent of her. He hated chocolate. Probably the worst creation to come out of this country, he glowered inwardly.  
“I have a good friend with expensive taste and a large wardrobe, gods bless the man,” Seth said dryly.  
“Are you here to steal Francis Eshra’s wife?” Celeste inquired, raising her glass of red wine up to her rose painted lips.  
The chocolatier might as well have slapped Seth around the face, causing him more shock than pain. “H-how –”  
“Honestly, it’s my imperative to know who is fucking who in this city,” she said nonchalantly.  
He growled under his breath and attempted to turn away.  
Celeste slid her fingers around his hand, snapping her body firmly against his side, “You’d be better off meeting me in the gardens. I’ll help you forget all about Lady Eshra,” she purred.  
Seth wrinkled his nose and pulled himself away from her grasp, “Not in a million years.”  
Celeste shrugged and watched the Raven thug push his way through throng of people observing a poker game. “Suit yourself,” she uttered onto her wine glass. 

***

Roza did as Vay’len had said. She had refrained from touching any wine, mingled and danced with strangers, but she had spent most of her time at one of the card tables. She suspected one of her opponents to be cheating – a skinny man, wearing a mask that reminded her of a turtles’ shell – and marked him as a possible Raven. When the clock chimed nine and the orchestra’s music layered up with more instruments, Roza reconvened with her analyst.  
As not to arouse any suspicions, she pretended that the high elf was a stranger and she was an open-minded human. “You look lonely,” Roza offered, “Care to dance?”  
“Are we really doing this?” Vay’len muttered under his breath.  
“Not to worry, I can lead,” she grinned, offering the elf her arm.  
Reluctantly, he took her hand and placed his other around her surprisingly small waist, careful not to catch himself on her ornately encased swords, they began to turn and spin into the flow of multiple dance partners.  
“Incredible,” he blurted, as her eyes met his.  
“What?” Roza smirked, leading him on a flurry of twirls that kept him on his toes, I expect he doubted that I knew how to dance.  
“You’re sober,” he said with surprise.  
Not what she had expected, but she grinned mischievously all the same, “How do you know?”  
“I can’t smell it on your breath,” Vay’len replied, before being carried away on the flow of her footwork. She was strong, physically. He could feel every muscle in her core flexing, her arms threatening to rip out of her lacy dress with every pull and lift – she could probably pick him right up and spin him above her head. Thankfully, she allows me to remain on my feet.  
Roza winked at him beneath her silver mask, “So, did you find anything?” she asked.  
Vay’len took a moment to glance over his slender shoulder before replying, “I traced the whole room. No sign of Jamie, but I sense that he’s nearby.”  
“Curious. Think he might be further inside the palace?”  
“Or outside it,” Vay’len nodded, still glancing across the room.  
Even as Roza guided him up and down in a line, pulling him closer to her body, her dancing becoming more provocative, he still managed to focus his attention on something else in the hall, someone else.  
“I think I found a Raven at the games table,” she said into his ear, wrapping her bare leg around him briefly.  
“That’s good,” he said distantly.  
Roza uncoiled from his lithe body, before taking a running leap at him without warning. Fortunately, Vay’len had naturally quick reflexes and he lifted her in time, and twirled her back down to the floor. A few woops and claps surrounded them from the on-looking crowd.  
“Sorry, am I boring you?” Roza said, snapping her fingers to wake him up from his daze-like state. She followed his trail of sight towards the back of the hall and the elevated stage that was reserved for royalty. “Is Jamie over there?”  
Vay’len was silent, his arms went limp and lifeless.  
Roza was worried for a second, thinking that she might have to check him for wounds. She glanced at the royal stage again and noticed a strawberry-haired woman staring back at them. There were no wounds on Vay’len, because the dagger that had shattered his heart was an invisible one.  
Roza was quick to figure it out, “You’re in love with the princess?”  
Vay’len was glad that he had a mask to hide his flushed cheeks. “Not anymore,” he said quietly, tears filling his sapphire eyes.  
“Vay’len,” she uttered sympathetically, rubbing his arm. It made sense, Melody owns the Silverstone library where he spends all his time researching, Roza quickly put two and two together.  
“Will you kiss me?” he asked, shaking with grief, “Please? It will be easier this way…”  
She obliged without hesitation or question, he’d helped her so much ever since her arrival in the city. She at least owed him an escape; a way to pretend that he had moved on and wasn’t committing high treason. Roza pulled him close and kissed his quaking lips, until the princess looked away. She then turned and practically ran from the hall.  
Vay’len pulled away from his dance partner, “I’m sorry, I need to get some fresh air,” he mumbled, before disappearing into the crowd of masked guests.  
Roza remained dazed for a moment, almost forgetting why she had attended the spring ball. Vay must have been dreading such a scene occurring, she thought empathetically. Soon she remembered where she was, what she was doing and who she was. I’m Rozaline Kiezar, she told herself, and I’m here for the debauchery. For underneath her silver mask, she wore another mask – the grinning Kiezar with no worries or cares.

Chapter Sixteen  
Find and Seek

It was a foolish idea, why did I let Lorne talk me into this?  
Fleeing from the proposition and the rich chocolate scent of Lady Alberona, Seth was about ready to give up and leave the party.  
How does she know so much about me? Seth was fuming as he stormed towards the cloakroom. He knew about Celeste, he was aware that she had been born into a higher social class than him. They were both born and bred Ayrevians, but they were certainly living on two different sides of the same coin.  
She has everything – wealth, luxury, a roof over her head and plenty of time to keep tabs on me? He questioned the unbalance of his countries’ society whilst snatching his coat from a hook.  
“Oh no, where is it?” a woman murmured, crouching down in the narrow cloakroom and rifling through her handbag.  
Seth hadn’t even noticed her there, he’d been so deeply engrossed in his irritation and thoughts. He wasn’t sure what compelled him to take an interest in her peril, but Seth delayed his departure. “Lost something?” he murmured back.  
“I thought I’d brought a gift for my friend. I definitely did, because I double checked my bag when I left the carriage,” she retraced her steps aloud, “You think someone might have stolen it?”  
“Wouldn’t surprise me,” he grunted.  
The woman straightened up, her emerald green mask barely concealing the worry on her face, or her true identity. Seth would never forget those warm, brown eyes. He recognised her scent, so many years had gone by, but he could not forget her lavender and honey signature. Deeply buried memories invaded his mind; the destruction of Raydon, the family tannery flattened, the burning and the smoke and bodies piled high, the streets streaming with blood. It had been a living nightmare, but somehow he had awoken inside a Mear temple with an angel sitting beside him.  
“Carrie?” Seth uttered, surprised that he could form her name on his lips. A cold sweat sliced through him, he was sure that the room was spinning, does she even remember me?  
“Oh,” she dropped her handbag, the worry on her face turned to shock, “Seth? You’re alive?”  
“I – I am,” he stuttered, frowning with confusion.  
“Francis told me you were dead,” Carrie whimpered, pulling the mask off her face. Her dress was green as well to match it, vibrant like the stems of spring daffodils.  
Seth lost all ability to speak as he gazed upon her revealed face. She was still classically beautiful, her skin radiant, her eyes so big and innocent. Her beauty had been what had attracted Francis Eshra into marrying her in the first place.  
Seth had wanted her to have a better life, she deserved so much and wealth that he could never offer her, but Francis had deceived her into thinking… I was dead?  
“Still not much of a talker, I see,” she smiled nervously, raising a dainty hand upwards to push Seth’s mask up onto his forehead. Tears began to tumble from Carrie’s eyes, “You look the same.”  
“I didn’t think you would remember – remember me,” he admitted.  
“There is no one else like you,” she replied.  
Seth caught her hand before she could withdraw away, savouring the warmth of her touch, “I’ll find what was stolen from you,” he promised.  
“I’ve already found it,” Carrie said, staring up into his eyes – his very soul – endlessly reminding him how deep their bond went. How irrevocably she was imprinted onto his heart. 

***

Vay’len stepped into the glowing royal gardens and almost everything reminded him of Melody. The perfectly trimmed hedge-maze in the centre of the grounds which was a few inches too low for the high elf to ever get lost in. It had been the perfect place to secretly meet the princess when she wasn’t able to leave her property.  
He had spent so many hours perched on white concrete benches and examining the marble sculptures and water-features of the gardens, just waiting for Melody to escape her family and duties. Just to see the elegant and intelligent woman for a few minutes had been worth the waiting.  
After all, I’m gifted with so much time… and she is not, Vay’len reminded himself often, as he was doing so now, idly kicking a bigger stone across the white gravel pathway. It had been the ultimate downfall of their affair. Melody was already halfway through her human years. She was royalty and cared for well, but the best Vay’len could hope for was another forty years before her body became brittle and her mind exhausted. He didn’t care. He would love her until her final breath.  
Melody was no fool. She knew elves lived for thousands of years and being a wizard, Vay’len could quite possibly live forever. Melody was far too compassionate to let him endure her slow and immutable death, so she had let him go.  
There was a reason why elves and humans marrying each other was so rare. Perhaps it is for the best, he kept telling himself, if assassins really are after me, I don’t want Melody to be in danger.  
Vay’len wasn’t the only one outside getting fresh air and escaping the masked party briefly to admire the tiny decorative lights that were strung up between every tree and hanging from the surrounding high walls of the estate like ivy.  
Vay’len could see better in the dark than any human and easily hear conversations from the other side of the garden. Everything in the garden was ordered and had its own place, every tree, flower, shrub and hedge. He found it so odd, that humans felt the need to control and tame nature, down to the immaculate lawn and the pathways and fences that divided the garden into segregated sections. Back home, Syl’radin city was natural, flowing and harmonious. Homes were made inside the ancient trees, not cut down and dug away to make room for brick and glass structures.  
Humans want to control everything around them…  
“Belinda?” a man rounded the maze of hedges and nearly bumped into Vay’len, still dawdling up the pathway.  
The elf was deep in thought and melancholy, he didn’t quite register the young man at first. He seemed in a hurry, urgently looking for the woman called Belinda. Vay’len eventually glanced down and didn’t miss the orange glow that was irradiating from Jamie’s palm.  
“Looking for someone?” the wizard inquired casually.  
“Sorry,” the mage said breathlessly, hiding his fire glowing hand against his side and hurrying past the elf.  
Vay’len pivoted on the spot, picturing the garden to simply end before Jamie could get away. The mage tipped over the imaginary edge, falling flat on his face. He began to scream and flail as if he was falling through the earth, plummeting off the face of a cliff that wasn’t actually there.  
With the same casualness Vay’len walked towards Jamie, twirling his wrist to cast a shield around the pair of them, to keep out prying eyes and alert ears. “I can’t believe my luck,” he uttered, crouching down to place his palm on the young man’s back.  
Jamie stopped falling in terror and gasped for air, “What? What was that?” he demanded, flames dancing in both his palms now.  
“A displacement spell,” Vay’len replied.  
He sat up, frowning beneath his wolf-inspired mask. “You’re like me?” Jamie asked, sounding curious and a little bit afraid.  
“No,” the elf shook his head and offered his hand towards the glowing mage, “But I can help you.” 

Chapter Seventeen  
Dreams 

Roza awoke in a small room in a cosy bed with no memory of how she had got there. Sunlight crept through the pale green curtains and she squinted at the light as she sat up, her head pounding her shoulder aching and her back dry and itchy.  
Too nice to be a tavern, she thought, looking around at the mismatching furniture, noticing a long green framed mirror and the pale brown leaf-designed wall paper.  
The place definitely seemed familiar. A comforting smell of wildflowers and freshly cooked breakfast wafted through the cracks in the white bedroom door and Roza knew that she wasn’t at Celeste’s shop.  
Someone politely knocked on the other side of the door, waited a few moments and entered with a tray of hot food and tea. “Good morning,” Hayley beamed, placing the wooden tray down on the nearest chest of draws.  
“If you say so,” Roza grumbled. She began to piece together the night before as Hayley poured them both a cup of tea. The masquerade ball, the card games, music, dancing, kissing Vay’len… getting drunk. She felt ashamed, for letting Vay’len down and for placing herself as a burden on the Hölzer’s, who had felt the need to take her home with them.  
Hayley sat on a bright orange chair and began to nibble on some toast.  
Roza had a much larger breakfast of bacon, eggs, mushrooms and crusty toast. “You’re not hungry?” she asked, pulling the plate onto her lap.  
“I already ate with dad,” she informed cheerfully.  
Roza took a few bites of the fried breakfast before biting her lip. “This is getting old now,” she admitted.  
“The food?” Hayley seemed surprised.  
“No, the food is divine,” Roza said sadly, “I mean me. Being irresponsible all the time and depending on other people to take care of me. It’s pathetic.”  
Hayley glanced around the colourful, floral room hesitantly. “My dad told me what happened to you in Barass…” she said slowly, “You’ve lost so much Roza. I don’t think you’re pathetic at all.”  
Roza bowed her head and sighed, “I took this job, I moved here to start a new life, but…” she trailed off, lost for words for once. I’ve bitten off more than I can chew.  
“You’re in mourning,” Hayley finished for her, topping up both of their drinks from the strawberry patterned teapot. “Take all the time that you need, dad, me and even Seth will always be here for you.”  
“Thank you,” Roza said quietly with a small smile.  
“You remind me of dad,” she began, “He endured so much. He really wanted to have a child with Clara, he always blamed fate, the gods, the universe for his misfortune. He didn’t know his place, he wasn’t able to fit in as he had been born from both Claynore and Menos, much like you. But if he had given up, perhaps none of us would even be here today, we could have all been sacrificed by Ananette. I’m sad that I never got to meet my mum, but I’m glad that I have the best dad in the world. In the end he finally got what he’d always dreamt of, a child.”  
Roza let her mouth hang open for a moment, forgetting all about the rest of her breakfast. “Did you really just compare me to Lorne Hölzer?”  
Hayley giggled bashfully, “Only a little bit,” she said, “What I’m trying to say is that things happen for a reason. I did really like Henrik, but it was probably for the best that his true colours bled through his charms. I would have been miserable married to him. But there is no way to turn back time, the only thing you can do is look forward and focus on filling your life with happiness. What is it you dream of, Roza? What is it you truly want to do with your life?”  
Roza hadn’t expected such a direct question from the cute young woman. She thought for a moment, taking a sip from her breakfast tea. “I’m not a dreamer,” she replied at last, taking another small sip of the steaming drink. “I’m a realist.”  
“Then realistically, you should be on track to being a Gardozian Knight? That’s your family tradition, right? Would that make you happy? Or do you feel pressured by that fact?” Hayley wondered.  
She hadn’t thought about having much of a choice in the matter, she had been born and brought up with her ambitions already predestined for her. “I want it,” Roza admitted, “I want to make my family proud, I want the title, I want my father’s galdarkas, I want it all. I’m – I’m just afraid that I won’t be happy once I’ve fulfilled that goal of becoming a knight.”  
“You won’t know unless you try,” Hayley pointed out, taking a drink from her own mug. “You’re not really on the right track here. You’re not even serving your empire all the way over here in Ayrev to gain your knighthood. I think that is why you are abusing yourself with alcohol and selflessly running into burning buildings. You’ve lost sight of your ambitions and gone off track, trying to find something to distract you from what was unfairly snatched away from you. You’re better off facing your fears, not running away from them.”  
“Hmm,” Roza brushed her finger across her lips and began to smile, “You really do read a lot of books, aye?” 

***

On her way back to the guard tower, her mind spinning from Hayley’s therapy session, Roza stopped by a different butcher shop to get Red something to sustain himself on. She returned to her office, carrying a crate of meat.  
Red was practically standing in the same spot she had left him yesterday, glancing down at her desk, studying reports with a quizzical expression on his face.  
His bright eyes thinned as he saw the captain, lugging a large wooden crate. “You should be resting your arm, Roza,” he hurried across the room with inhuman speed to relieve her of the weight. Red surprised himself with his new agility and effortless strength.  
Roza shrugged. “I got you some more steaks, and that weird black sausage looking thing is called blood pudding or something. Apparently normal people cook it and eat it with breakfast,” she said, pointing into the crate at the oddity she had discovered.  
Red chuckled, “Black pudding we call it too. I’ve had it before, it’s not bad. I hope it still tastes the same…”  
“Has your palate changed?” she asked, approaching her desk to examine the new reports.  
“Yeah, I think so. I usually crave things that are salty or sweet. Now I just feel… thirsty all the time. But it isn’t a thirst that water can get rid of,” Red explained.  
Roza sat down at her desk and massaged her tender shoulder. Her office seemed colder than usual, even though the weather was mild and dry for once. The Hölzer’s spare room had felt so welcoming and cosy, returning to her undecorated and bland office was instantly gruelling. She shuffled through her reports, adding a few notes to her list of Ravens, as she vaguely recalled meeting a possible suspect at the party last night. As she continued to scan the reports, she recognised Vay’len’s tidy, curly writing and read the short message he had left for her. Roza stood up from her chair abruptly.  
“What is it?” Red asked, watching her carefully.  
“He’s found him,” she strode across her office.  
“Found who?”  
“Jamie,” she replied, opening the heavy door.  
“Roza,” Red called, coming up behind her, “Roza, you’re still in your party gown.”  
Roza looked down at the lacy pale grey fabric that draped her muscular body, goodness knows what happened to the mask I borrowed, “Ah, Celeste might want this dress back, aye?”  
He rolled his eyes playfully, “I believe Mr Nailir took Jamie back to his parents last night. Come to think of it he’s probably still there. His report arrived by pigeon.”  
“Either that or Vay has been murdered by Victor Claylorne,” she said with a twisted grin.  
“Roza,” he called her once more, “You look nice.”  
She doubted it, reaching up to check if the flowers that had been woven into her hair were still there. As suspected, most of Celeste’s styling had worn away during the night.  
“Thanks,” she said forcing her grin to appear appreciative as she waved him goodbye. One of her father’s Kiezar Wisdoms sprung to mind as she left the office, locking it behind her at Red’s request. It is always more charming to accept a compliment rather than highlighting your own insecurities. Nobody likes a cry-baby.

Chapter Nineteen  
Fight Fire with Fire

Roza arrived at Claylorne’s Innovations just before midday. The streets had been very quiet, and she presumed that everyone in the city was recovering from the ball last night. She rushed into Victor’s shop, eager to rescue Vay’len from whatever mess he had got himself into. Instead, she was surprised to see the shop owner impatiently serving a client. A portly gentleman, finely dressed almost as if he had come straight from the ball. Roza could tell that the client was noble born, most would rather die than get caught seen in casual attire.  
“These are all very magnificent, Mr Claylorne, but I was hoping that you would be able to personalise a watch for my wife. Darling Cassandra deserves only the best,” the nobleman demanded, glancing down at the countertop where seven of Victor’s creations were displayed on a blue velvet cloth.  
“Timepiece,” Victor corrected dryly.  
“I beg your pardon?”  
“They’re called timepieces,” he explained, losing his temper, he began to roll his beautiful creations up into the velvet cloth. “If you wanted a modified piece, you should have put a commission in, instead of coming here to browse and waste my precious time.”  
Roza suspected that no one had ever spoken to the nobleman so bluntly before, especially from a salesperson – whose defining role was to make sales. Roza barely concealed her snigger.  
“Excuse me?” the noble gaped with dismay.  
Victor turned away from the serving counter and began to put the timepieces away in their glass cabinets.  
“This is gross misconduct,” he argued, “I’ll take my custom elsewhere, and make sure to tell everyone I know how terrible the service is here.”  
“Be my guest,” Victor said, still busying himself with the display cabinets, “Cassandra certainly won’t get a Claylorne timepiece if you do that though. I think Malorrey Street has a half decent watchmaker that could knock up the next best thing.”  
The nobleman heard Roza suppressing a laugh behind him and turned. He recognised her bright white uniform, “Captain? Won’t you talk some sense into this madman?” he demanded desperately.  
“Aye, I’ll arrest him for speaking his mind. That’ll teach him,” she jested.  
The noble must have thought she was being serious, as he appeared relieved and put his black silk top hat on his head, ready to leave the shop.  
Victor locked his last invention away, still disgruntled by the time wasting client. It was hard to picture him being related to the charismatic and charming Lorne Hölzer. “Roza, I hope you’re here to drag the Eladrin off my property,” he said bluntly. He slicked back his jet black hair with his fully functioning hand, “He’s been here all night.”  
“That’s not surprising. Elves don’t really sleep much, do they?” Roza observed with a Kiezar grin, “That’s why you get so much inventing done.”  
“I’m nothing like those nature-loving exclusionists,” he grumbled.  
“Aye, and I’m not part Murazian,” she winked, referring to the ancient race of phoenix-born people that still resided within the empires’ purist bloodlines. She was beginning to think that a lot of her resilience came from her ancestry line, and why running into a burning building had felt almost natural, I should have burnt to a crisp.  
“Upstairs, second room on the left,” Victor instructed bluntly.  
Roza paused her pondering and ascended the stairs to find Vay’len and finally meet the elusive Jamie Claylorne.  
His mother was standing on the almost bare landing, anxiously waiting outside the room. “Rozaline,” she uttered nervously, forcing herself to stop biting her nails, “Can I get you a drink?”  
“Coffee, if you have it, please Violet?” she asked gently, “Are they in there?”  
Violet nodded and scuttled through the archway behind her to the kitchen.  
Roza knocked on the second door before letting herself in.  
The young man with trademark Hölzer jet black hair, pale skin and unusually dark eyes sat in a comfy looking armchair by the window. Roza imagined Jamie to look very similar to his uncle Lorne when he was younger, except for the black framed glasses that he wore and the black feather-like tattoo on his right arm, which was peaking out from his navy shirt sleeve. He instantly tensed in his seat when he noticed the captain.  
“Y-you said no one was going to arrest me,” Jamie said to Vay’len, panicking slightly.  
The elf was sat on a desk chair, facing the frightened young man. He glanced over his shoulder to smile at Roza, “She’s not here to arrest you,” Vay’len reassured. “This is Rozaline Kiezar, a friend of your family.”  
Jamie nodded, his wide black eyes darting towards Roza’s face, “Kiezar…” he recalled. “Your father is the blind Gardozian Knight?”  
“Aye,” Roza entered further into the room, towering over both of them. She grinned playfully, “Your father is that angry inventor, right?”  
“Ah, so you’ve met him,” Jamie played along, “Very cold, very stern man. Is it any wonder I spontaneously burst into flames?”  
“That sounds like an annoying affliction. Have you gone to see a doctor about it?” she countered wryly.  
Jamie smirked back at her, already warming to her charms. “In all seriousness, I’ve been lost and confused for a while now,” he said, “Mother coddles me and father shuns me as if he’s embarrassed about me. Why can’t they just be normal?”  
“Because then you’d be normal too,” Roza replied, “And you might as well be dead if you’re boring and normal.”  
“Roza,” Vay’len muttered from the corner of his mouth. He shot her a look as if to say, you’re not helping the situation.  
Violet timidly entered the bedroom, averted everyone’s eyes and handed Roza a cup of coffee. “Thank you,” Roza said before Violet disappeared. The captain removed her extravagant white coat and found a seat on the end of Jamie’s bed.  
“I think she might have overheard us,” Vay’len said sympathetically.  
Jamie shrugged, “If she wants me to stay, then I’d like to be shown a bit of respect.”  
“You do deserve respect,” he said understandingly. “Would you like to work with us?”  
“You’ll want me to give up Belinda and the rest of the Ravens, won’t you?” Jamie pointed out quick wittedly. “They are my only friends.”  
“They’re criminals, Jamie.”  
“That’s one perspective,” he said sharply, “In my opinion the class divide is criminal. Nobles find ways to avoid paying taxes, business owners get wealthy off the backs of their staff, the factories pay their workers pennies. And the law, the guards are just as corrupt. They take money from the nobility, and they get away with torture and rape. Because your guards just decide to point their guns at who ever they wish. You should sort out your guard force before pointing the blame at us Ravens.”  
Vay’len exchanged a glance with Roza, who was blowing on her coffee before taking a sip. “Someone must be covering up these incidents,” the elf uttered, “I’ve not heard any complaints about the city guard force.”  
“To be fair, I was shoved around at gun point and put into custody upon my arrival here,” Roza shrugged.  
“Yes, but you’re you,” Vay’len teased.  
“What’s that suppos’to mean?”  
“You’re terrifying at first glance,” he replied with a playful smile.  
“Fair,” she shrugged again and drank some more of her coffee.  
“Here’s a statement for you,” Jamie said, leaning forwards in his chair. “Do you want to know why I burnt down the Quarette jewellery shop? We traced their jewel suppliers to Barass, where slave labour is still being used to look for diamonds, sapphires and rubies. Barass is in such a mess of its own fighting the war in the east that they make Ravens look like a miniature operation. Anyway, these blood jewels are being made into pieces for the nobility to wear by child slaves, just on the outskirts of the Raydon. No one was doing anything about it. The guards were bribed, the royal family doesn’t care – ”  
“They do care,” Vay’len interrupted passionately, “Look at Silverstone, the tuition costs used to be sky high, but the princess pooled all of her wealth into making the university accessible to everyone.”  
“Ok, so the Hollingtons did one good thing,” Jamie said, “But it is time for the people to have their say, instead of having their voices drowned out.”  
“Zarah Quarette died in that fire. You’ve been gifted with great power, Jamie, and you abused that,” Vay’len lectured.  
“Well, I feel a little less guilty for not saving her from the fire now,” Roza admitted, finishing off her drink.  
Vay’len looked alarmed, “She didn’t deserve to die. She was in the wrong, but death is permanent. There’s always a better way,” he argued.  
“In truth, I was told that the building would be empty,” Jamie said, twisting his finger around the sleeve of his shirt anxiously. “I didn’t mean to hurt anyone, believe me.”  
“I do believe you. I don’t think there is anything malicious about you. You’ve just had your head filled with extremist ideologies and your actions have been brash and thoughtless,” Vay’len continued to lecture. “You’ll be under house arrest until further notice, and I will personally oversee your mentoring.”  
“Mentoring?” Jamie fell back into his chair, his dark eyes darting around the room again.  
“To show you how to use your magic,” Vay’len said, finalising the conversation and getting up from his chair. “I’ll meet you here around midday?”  
Roza followed Vay’len out of the room, leaving behind a fairly anxious and dazed Jamie Claylorne.  
“I didn’t think we’d ever actually find him,” Roza said, after taking her cup back to the kitchen and meeting the elf outside the shop.  
“I bumped into him in the palace gardens. For someone who hates royalty so much… it was definitely a bit too easy to catch him,” Vay’len uttered suspiciously.  
“Wonder what he was doing there,” she nodded thoughtfully.  
They strolled leisurely through the crafting district, enjoying the dry weather and the cool breeze. Roza waved as she passed her uncle’s blacksmith, and Hunter looked up from his work to smile her way.  
“Roza,” Vay’len started, “You never told me your father was blind.”  
“I thought you already knew?” she puzzled, slowing down her long strides.  
“Not at all. What happened?” he asked softly.  
“Something to do with Maiya’s relic I believe. When Sheri bonded with the white dragon inside the stone, a raw burst of light erupted, and it blinded him,” she replied, her face oddly expressionless.  
“That must have been before the Blood War, when Sheri Curlain became a host for Maiya,” Vay’len recalled his historical knowledge, “And before you were born. So your father has never seen what you look like?”  
“No,” Roza uttered, tucking her chin into the collar of her coat. “Can we talk about something else?”  
“Sorry,” he said, his already narrow eyes thinning as he pondered. He tried to imagine his life without eyesight, a bleak thought, especially not being able to see the people that were so dear to him.  
They neared the central plaza of Raydon, where the roads branched off onto each different district, the palace and the barracks. “The spontaneous vampire attacks are already a problem enough, without Ravens and corrupt guards threatening to war with each other. I’m not sure how to fix both at the same time,” Roza admitted.  
“Allow me to focus on the vampires,” he reassured.  
She stopped outside the guard tower, barely believing how fast the walk back had taken. “Would you like to come in, for some food?” she offered.  
“No, thank you though,” Vay’len said, turning quite bashful, “I need to go to the library, hit the research hard.”  
Roza came out and said what was on her mind anyway – a common Kiezar trait, “do you want to talk about last night?”  
He blinked a few times as if Roza had just spoken a different language. “Which part?”  
“Um, the part with Princess Melody? Or have I been dreaming?” she puzzled.  
“Oh,” he turned, so that she could only see the side of his sorrowful face. “I’d appreciate it greatly if you kept that to yourself.”  
“Of course. You don’t need to tell me to,” she said sincerely, “I’m not that tactless.”  
“I’m surprised you remember much at all, after getting so drunk,” he said, talking down to his felt shoes.  
“How did you – how? You left the party,” Roza went back to puzzling.  
“Intuition,” he shrugged, lifting his satchel further onto his narrow shoulder. “Goodbye for now, Rozaline.”  
Vay’len walked away, disappearing into the depths of Raydon city.


End file.
